A Spark in the Darkness
by random.chick.heart
Summary: Our lips meet somewhere in the middle in a passionate kiss, and our message is as clear as that of the crowd when they raised their hands in the traditional salute: We will not be broken. AU version of the 74th Hunger Games. GalexKatniss. Lemons inside.
1. Prologue

_**Author's Note 1:**__ This is an AU version of 'The Hunger Games.' In this world, Gale and Katniss became a couple a year before the reaping for the 74__th__ games. Gale is reaped instead of Peeta. A couple other things I've changed for this story (I'm hoping the reasons for these choices will be clear when you read it): Katniss is 18 like Gale, their fathers died when they were both 12, Rory is 15 instead of 12, and Posy is 6 instead of 4 (this one is mostly just a consequence of having their fathers die 6 years ago instead of 4)._

_**Author's Note 2: **__This is my first attempt at Hunger Games fanfiction. I hated the way 'Mockingjay' ended and found I couldn't get this version of events out of my head, so I decided to take a shot at writing it down. I've got the whole story outlined and the first few chapters written. I'm going to try to keep to posting a new chapter every 5 days or so, RL permitting. This is rated M for a reason - there will be lemons, and the occasional bad word. Reviews are greatly appreciated!_

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing and am not making any money off of this. Everything is the property of Suzanne Collins and her publishers._

* * *

**Prologue**

When I wake up, the sky is only just beginning to lighten. Dawn is still a while off, a fact for which I'm grateful. Normally I would not have to be up quite this early, but today is Reaping Day, and that means I'll have to set off for the woods earlier than usual, in order to make it back in time.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and look around the tiny bedroom in my house in the Seam, the poorest area of District 12 where most of the coal miners' families live. My little sister Prim is curled up with our mother in the bed across from me, her ugly old cat Buttercup lying across their feet. She seems to be sleeping soundly, and I move quietly, not wanting to disturb her. She needs the rest, having woken up several times throughout the night crying out in fear. At 12 years old, this will be her first reaping, an understandably terrifying prospect.

This is my 7th and last time as a potential tribute, since I turned 18 two months ago, and will no longer be eligible next year to serve as tribute. Only children between 12 and 18 years of age can be selected as tributes to represent their district in the Hunger Games - a horrible annual event where 24 children from the 12 districts of Panem are forced to fight to the death for the amusement of the Capitol and as punishment for rebelling against its rule three generations ago. In District 12, being selected as tribute was almost always a death sentence. Each Hunger Games can have only one victor - one survivor - and in the 73 previous years of games, District 12 had produced only two victors. Tributes are selected on Reaping Day, when all individuals of eligible age have their names entered into random draws - one for boys and one for girls. With Prim now eligible, I find I am more afraid for her than myself, even though her name will only be entered in the draw once, whereas mine will be in there 28 times.

Sighing, I slip out of bed and quickly put on my usual hunting outfit - faded leather jacket, light t-shirt, slim tan pants, and well-worn black boots. I pull my dark hair back in a long braid and creep out of the bedroom as silently as possible, not wanting to disturb Prim or my mother. In the kitchen I find my game bag and sling it over my shoulder, before noticing a small bundle on the table next to a piece of paper with 'Katniss' written on it. I pick up the note, and smile - the bundle contains a bit of goat's cheese that Prim had left out for me as a gift. I put the bundle in my game bag and head out the door.

Once outside I begin moving quickly, eager to get to the woods. I make my way across the Seam, and through the meadow at the edge of the district, heading straight for the loose spot there in the wire fence that rings District 12. I listen for the tell-tale hum that would mean the electricity has been turned on and the fence is active, but I hear nothing. The fence is rarely turned on, but with the reaping today, I have to be extra careful. When I hear nothing, I duck underneath it after taking a quick look around to make sure that no one is watching me.

Entering the woods is illegal, and hunting in the woods is considered poaching on Capitol lands, a crime punishable by death. But living in one of the poorest districts, I am willing to take the risk to keep my family from starving. It helps that, while most others in District 12 are not brave enough to venture out here themselves, they are generally willing to look the other way, particularly since they also benefit from trading for some of the game I bring in.

As soon as I enter the woods, I can feel some of my anxiety lifting. I am in my element here and my worries about the reaping this afternoon seem a thousand miles away. I move swiftly through the forest, stopping first to grab my favourite bow and arrow from its hiding place in an old hollow tree trunk before heading along my preferred path. In short order I've managed to shoot a squirrel and two fat rabbits, who must still be a little slow from sleep as the sun is just now appearing on the horizon. It is bad luck for them that they happened to be emerging just as I came through, but very good luck for me. The rabbits will be worth a good trade at the Hob, the black market that runs from inside an old coal warehouse. The squirrel isn't quite as valuable, but meat is meat and I can't afford to be picky.

I'm cleaning the gore off my last arrow when I hear a twig snap behind me. Reflexively I spin around, readying my bow as I turn. The woods are mostly safe, at least for someone as familiar with them as I am, but every now and then a bear or bobcat or pack of wild dogs wanders through. And of course, there is always the possibility that some Peacekeeper will get it in his or her head to start actually enforcing the anti-poaching laws and track me into the forest. Under the Capitol's rule, predators come in any many forms, and I instinctively brace myself for the worst.

What I find, instead, is Gale Hawthorne, about 10 feet away from me, holding his hands up and giving me a look that somehow manages to be both sheepish and cocky. I mentally relax immediately, but do not lower my bow.

"Oh good," I say coolly, "I had been hoping to shoot something larger than a rabbit today."

He quirks an eyebrow at me, and begins slowly closing the distance between us. "Now, now, Catnip. No need to do anything rash just because you're mad at me for sneaking up on you," he teases.

"It would serve you right. Hasn't anyone ever taught you not to startle people engaged in illegal activities?" I fire back, though I let the bowstring go slack in my hand.

"Just trying to keep you on your toes," he smirks, now standing almost directly in front of me. At over 6 feet tall, Gale is almost a full foot taller than I am, and would appear quite intimidating if I didn't know better.

"I doubt it's my toes that you want me on," I grin back, finally lowering my bow completely as he eliminates the remaining space between us.

He laughs, "You know me too well, Catnip," before sweeping me into his arms for a searing kiss, which I eagerly return.


	2. What It Means to Live

**A/N:** An alternate title for this chapter would be "A Not-So-Brief History of Katniss and Gale." It describes how their relationship evolved to its current state, so it's pretty exposition-heavy. I promise the present-day action will pick up again immediately in the following chapter, which will be up later this week!

Thank you so much to everyone who read, favourited, and/or reviewed the prologue. Please keep the reviews coming, I love hearing what you guys think!

**Disclaimer: **I still own nothing.

* * *

**Chapter 1 - What It Means to Live**

I first met Gale more than 6 years ago, when we were both 12. Of course, being the same age, I had seen him around school before then, but we never really had any interaction until after the mining accident that took both of our fathers' lives. I've never had much interest in socializing, preferring to keep my head down and focus on keeping food on my family's table. Gale is much the same, so we had always kept largely to ourselves.

The first time I truly noticed him was at the ceremony where Mayor Undersee presented each of our families with a medal recognizing our fathers' service and honouring their memories. After my father died, my mother had suffered a severe breakdown, retreating completely into herself. She was (and is again now that she's mostly recovered) a healer, and could have helped provide for our family, if only she had known how to take care of herself. Instead, she spent months not speaking, not moving, barely even breathing, as she let her grief crush her. With her unable to do anything, the responsibility of caring for what was left of our family fell squarely on my shoulders. Prim was only 6, and although she has always been unusually wise and perceptive for her age, she was still far too young to contribute much to providing food for three people.

My mother hadn't even been able to pull herself together to come to the ceremony honouring my father, so I had to accept the medal it for our family. The day of the ceremony I remember being so _mad_ at the entire concept. Here they were, giving me some useless piece of brass, when what I really needed was food or money to get food. We were starving and all that the Capitol, with their infinite resources, could be bothered to part with was a worthless piece of metal. The whole situation was just utterly unfair, and I couldn't help but look absolutely livid as I accepted the stupid thing.

When Mayor Undersee moved on to the next family in line, it was the Hawthornes. I glanced their way, and caught the oldest boy, Gale, staring at me, the same look on his face that I knew was on mine. He understood exactly how I felt, I realized. In some ways, he was in an even worse situation. I only had Prim and my mother to take care of. He had two younger siblings already (Rory, I would later learn, who is two years older than Prim, and Vick, 3 years younger than Rory), with a third soon to be born, based on how pregnant his mother (Hazelle, I managed to catch), looked. We didn't speak that day, but it helped a tiny bit knowing there was someone who felt as I did, much as I hated that they were in this dreadful situation too.

* * *

The first time Gale and I actually spoke was weeks later, in the woods. After very nearly starving to death (only to be saved by an unexpected act of kindness from the town baker's son), I had realized that hunting, as my father had taught me to do, was the only way I would be able to keep enough food on the table for my family. I had signed up for the tesserae too for all three of us, accepting the extra slips of paper with my name on them in the reaping bowl in exchange for a year's supply of grain and oil, but it would not be enough to keep us healthy. Gathering up my courage to go into the woods alone, I found the spot in the fence father and I always used to access the woods, and began slipping away whenever I could. I used the bow my father had made me to shoot squirrels and rabbits, and the book of plants he had compiled to gather edible herbs, vegetables and berries. Years of practicing with my father had paid off, and I was extremely good with the bow, able to kill efficiently with one shot right through the eye. I tried my hand at setting up snares too, in the hopes of trapping some animals while pursuing others with my bow, but couldn't quite seem to get the hang of it.

One day I came across a rabbit, hanging in a perfect snare. I stopped to examine it, trying to figure how the person who had set it up had done it, when I heard a male voice behind me.

"Stealing's illegal, you know." I spun to see Gale Hawthorne looking at me, his expression somewhere between amused and angry.

Embarrassed at having gotten caught, I stammered guiltily, "I wasn't going to steal it. I just wanted to see how you did it."

He must have decided I was telling the truth, because his tone softened. "What's your name?" he asked me. I was mildly hurt that he hadn't remembered from the ceremony, but then I remembered how gaunt and frail I was then, and how I probably looked much different now that I was eating proper meals on a mostly-regular basis.

Painfully shy, and unused to talking to anyone who wasn't Prim, I had mumbled, "Katniss."

"Catnip?" he parried, having misheard and now clearly amused. I didn't correct him, and thus the nickname that he still uses for me today was born. "You really want to see how I set up the snare?" he asked, and I nodded enthusiastically. We worked out an agreement where he would teach me how to set up snares in exchange for a bow and lessons on how to use it. We began hunting together regularly, sharing our catches and trading what we didn't need for our families at the Hob for the other supplies that we did. Eventually we become each others' confidants, best (and possibly only) friends.

For a long time that was all I wanted from Gale. From anyone, in fact. I had been certain that I did not ever want to fall in love, or get married, and absolutely would not have children. In our world, love meant nothing but loss. Surviving was all there was, and sooner or later we would all fail even at that. Maybe it would be an explosion down in the coal mines, like the one that had killed our fathers. Or perhaps the starvation that was rampant in District 12, especially in the Seam, would claim you as it's victim. Maybe you would be reaped for the Hunger Games, and die in the Arena. Or perhaps you would be murdered by some other cruelty of the Capitol. Life in Panem, particularly in the poor District 12, was a daily struggle against a multitude of predators, surrounding you on all sides, ready to destroy anyone weak or foolish or just plain unlucky. There was no point in loving someone, when they would inevitably be taken from you, or you from them. I believed that nothing could be worth the pain of that loss - it was better to have nothing to lose in the first place.

But somehow, things changed, so slowly that I barely even noticed it, until all of a sudden it couldn't be ignored. Sometime after the reaping the year we were 15, I'd start catching Gale watching me, a look in his eyes that I couldn't quite understand and was positive I did not want to. And sometimes I'd catch myself looking at him the same way, which was even more frightening. Every now and then he'd seem like he wanted to say something, but I was determined to ignore whatever might have been going on and would always change the subject or take off before he could. All the while, this unnamed tension between us was growing.

* * *

Things finally came to a head last year, after the reaping when we were 17, the second last one Gale and I would ever have to go through.

It had become tradition for my family and Gale's to have a small feast together after the reaping, to celebrate another year of the odds being in our favour, another year with neither of us being selected as tribute. Last year we had finished the meal early, and Gale and I had decided to take a walk, maybe head back into the woods for a little while if the fence hadn't been turned on. We were walking in comfortable silence along the path heading from his house towards the meadow when a female voice behind us had called out Gale's name.

We turned to see a blonde girl sauntering towards us. Well, towards Gale really. I might as well have been a rock on the path, for all that she was interested in me. She looked vaguely familiar, from school. I thought she was a year younger than us, her name was … Lily… something or other. She was a town girl and for the life of me I could not figure out what she was doing hanging about in the Seam. Although it quickly became clear what (or who, I should say) she _wanted_ to be doing.

"Gale!" she repeated, jogging to catch up with us (well, him). I immediately disliked the way she was looking at him. We'd seen a wolf in the woods once, patiently stalking a young fawn, calculating the right moment to pounce on its delicious meal. The wolf had had the same look in its eyes that this girl did now.

"Hi, um, Lisa?" he guessed, looking as bewildered as I felt by this encounter.

"Lily," she corrected, giggling lightly. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to me, and I felt my jaw clench involuntarily.

"Right, sorry," Gale mumbled, not sounding particularly sorry at all. He glanced back at where I was standing, off to the side just behind his right shoulder, his expression plainly asking if I had any clue what was going on right now. I shrugged lightly, trying not to let my irritation show.

"Oh no problem!" she chirped, completely unbothered by the fact that he didn't know her name. She took a couple more steps towards him, now standing less than an arm's length away. When she spoke again, her voice was deeper, aiming for what I assume she thought was seductive (in my wholly uninformed opinion, she sounded more like a sick cat). "Some of us are having a little celebration tonight, out by the slag heap, and I was wondering if you'd like to come … with me?" As she finished, she took the last couple of steps towards him and placed her hands on his chest, making her invitation clear. Even as inexperienced as I was, I knew what she was offering, and I was filled with a completely irrational rage that I really, really did not want to examine any further, but couldn't seem to let go of either.

Gale looked momentarily stunned, but then took a large step back, putting some space between them again, much to Lily's disappointment. "Sorry. I'm busy," he replied dismissively, but trying not to outright insult her. Even this limited attempt at politeness irked me. Why shouldn't he insult her? I had quite a few choice words handy if he needed some suggestions to get the ball rolling.

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder to me, giving me a quick once-over and clearly finding my poor Seam looks lacking. "With her?" she asked, voice dripping with disdain.

Now Gale's voice was hard when he answered, trying to make it clear that the subject was closed, "Yes. With _Katniss_." She frowned. I was slightly mollified.

I shot the girl my smuggest look when she glanced back in my direction, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Fine," she cooed, "but if you want to have some fun with a _real girl_, you know where to find me." Then she had leaned up and kissed him quickly on the lips, before trotting back off in the direction she had come from while he gaped at her in shock.

The irrational rage was back. After a moment when Gale still hadn't moved, I huffed out an aggravated breath and started stalking towards the meadow. Gale must have shook himself out of his daze, because I could hear his footsteps trailing after me. I ducked under the fence, pushing it aside violently and made a beeline for the tree with my bow. I needed to shoot something and I needed to shoot it _now_.

With my bow in my hands, I was half tempted to turn around and head to the slag heap and track down that little _bitch_, but thinking about why I wanted to do that so badly set off all my internal alarms, the ones that warned of things I _did not want to deal with,_ and so instead I let my anger propel me further into the woods.

It wasn't long before a movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention and I swung, firing with all the force of my pent up rage and pinning whatever had moved against the trunk of a tree. I stomped over to claim my kill, feeling marginally better for all of five seconds, right until I got a good look at the unfortunate victim of my ire.

It was a leaf.

Oh, a very large leaf to be sure, but a leaf nonetheless. And my arrow was now embedded so deeply in the tree that it was almost certainly stuck there for good. Even nature was mocking me tonight, it seemed. I dropped my bow and threw my arms up in frustration.

"Good to know I'll never have to worry about death by falling leaf with you around," Gale piped up from somewhere behind me. I turned to see him leaning casually against a nearby tree, eyeing me curiously.

"I thought it was a squirrel," I spat, still unreasonably angry and unable (unwilling) to identify why.

"I'm pretty sure all of your stomping around scared them all off, along with everything else in the woods," he commented dryly.

I huffed in irritation. He was right, but I'd be damned if I'd admit it. "You're still here," I challenged.

"Are you saying I have less common sense than a squirrel? I'm hurt," he smirked, before his expression softened. "Care to tell me what's bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me," I muttered, entirely unconvincingly. I crossed my arms over my chest defensively and turned back to study my poor arrow, stuck in that tree.

"Come on, Catnip," he said in a low voice, suddenly right beside me. I hadn't even heard him approach, he's so stealthy (much more so than me and all my stomping), and now I could feel his breath tickling my ear. A shiver ran up my spine and I felt short of breath, my heart racing inside my chest in a way that I knew I should hate but couldn't quite seem to. He grasped my elbow lightly and turned me to face him. Reluctantly I looked up, meeting his eyes. "Is this about that stupid girl on the road?" he asks.

The mention of her had set me off. "Who the hell does she think she is? What gives her the right to look at me like that, to talk about me as if I'm nothing? And what the hell is wrong with her that she'd just throw herself at you, as if I wasn't even standing _right the fuck there?_"

I shut up as soon as the words left my mouth. I'd said too much and I could feel my face burning. I tried to look away, but Gale stopped me, placing his hand lightly against my cheek and keeping my eyes trained on his. I was having trouble breathing again and really hoped I didn't look as flustered as I felt.

He looked at me intently for a minute, before a look of understanding filled his eyes. It made me extremely wary. "Catnip," he started slowly, as though talking to an easily frightened animal, which I can admit I very much resembled at that moment, "…are you jealous?" He couldn't quite keep the mirth out of his eyes as he asked this, though he tried, which I appreciated.

I opened my mouth, planning to deny it with all the strength I had used to fire that arrow into the stupid leaf. I meant to say _No, of course not, don't be ridiculous, things with us aren't like that_. Instead what came out was a very simple "Yes."

I'm not sure which one of us was more stunned by my admission. My first instinct was to try to take it back, to pretend that I was joking, or even just turn heel and run. But that urge disappeared as quickly as it came as I looked, really looked at Gale for the first time, and finally I couldn't help but acknowledge all the things I had been trying so hard for so long to not see. How the slightly gangly boy I met 5 years ago had turned into a ridiculously handsome man - tall, strong build from hours spent hunting, dark hair just long enough to tangle your fingers in, slate grey eyes that seem to burn right through me. How he looked (still looks) at me as if there is nothing else in the world worth seeing. How my heart skips a beat every time I look at him, the way my body tingles from the slightest contact, how I find it hard to breathe when he is too close to me.

I thought about how he is the only person in the world who truly understands me. How dedicated he is to caring for his family, and mine as well. How passionate and intelligent and determined he is, wanting so much to give those he cares about the best possible life, even in the less-than-fortunate circumstances we've all been born into. How he is the only person besides Prim who truly makes me smile, who can make me laugh. How I trust him more than anyone, more than I even trust myself sometimes.

And that was the thought that finally broke down the last of my resistance. For 5 years already I had trusted Gale with everything - my innermost secrets, my safety, my family, my life itself. It suddenly seemed ridiculous to think that it wasn't inevitable that I'd wind up trusting him with my heart too.

He had been watching me closely, observing the play of emotions across my face as I finally allowed the realizations to run through me. He saw the second I made the decision to stop running away from this, from us - to let him love me, and let myself love him back. The smile that lit up his face could have illuminated the whole world, and I realized then just how long he had been wanting this, had been waiting for me.

I leaned up and kissed him lightly on the lips, before pulling back slightly to see his response. For a moment we stood, just staring at each other, the woods silent except for our breathing and pounding hearts. Then, like a spark bursting into a flame, we crashed into each other. His arms went around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. My hands flew up to tangle in the soft ebony hair at the base of his neck. My mouth opened under his, and he kissed me hungrily, like nothing had ever tasted sweeter. I knew nothing in my life had ever felt this good.

And at that moment I finally understood something very important about love. My father had tried to teach me this, but I had been too young to grasp what he meant and then he had died and we were starving and I had become too entrenched in my anti-relationship stance to ever give the concept much thought. The point of love, he had told me once, is not to survive, but to _live_.

In Gale's arms, I felt wonderfully, completely _alive_ for the first time. And I knew now what my father had meant. That surviving just for the sake of surviving isn't really living - that it's love that makes all the pain and hardship worthwhile, that creates moments of beauty and brightness even in a dark world.

* * *

After that night we were even more inseparable than usual. At first I had worried that the change in our relationship would negatively effect our hunting, but if anything we were even more in tune with each other than we had been before. We worked seamlessly together, becoming even more efficient and effective. Of course, this was probably partly because we had some incentive to get things done more quickly. Feeding our families was still our top priority - neither of us ever forgot that we had responsibilities beyond each other. But we quickly figured out how to keep on top of our obligations while making time to just be with each other - time to live, not just survive.

Both of our mothers were thrilled when we finally told them. They had assumed for years that we were going to end up getting married and couldn't help but gloat a little bit about how right they had been. We mostly tried to make a point of not broadcasting our new relationship within the confines of District 12, but these things had a way of getting out (Lily What's-Her-Face "accidentally" catching us making out in a secluded corner behind the school certainly contributed to the spread of information). The main result of this was an increase in light mocking and suggestive comments at the Hob, but since we were careful to ensure that our haul for trading didn't suffer, things quickly returned to normal as it became clear that whatever we were doing with our personal time wouldn't be affecting our ability or willingness to provide for the people of the district.

On my 18th birthday, just about two months ago, I decided to take Gale somewhere that I had never shown anyone before. Much deeper in the woods than we typically venture there's a beautiful lake, with the remains of a small stone cottage just up from the shore. My father used to bring me there - it was where he had taught me how to swim and fish. Katniss, the plant for which I was named, grew in abundance along the shores of the lake and there were usually plenty of water birds around for hunting. It had been our special place, and after he died, I couldn't bear to return there because it was too full of memories. But now I found myself wanting to share it with Gale, to return there not in sorrow but in happiness and make new memories to complement the old ones.

We had packed some bread and a bit of cheese from Prim's goat, and set out early in the morning. We hunted and picked berries along the way, just for ourselves for once. Although it was still fairly early in the spring, the day was unusually warm - perfect for swimming. We spent the day relaxing in the sun and playing in the water, cooking the game that we had caught and enjoying a rare break from life in District 12.

We had planned to camp in the ruins of the cottage that night, but it stayed so warm that we decided to just lay the blankets we had brought out on the grass. That night, under the stars that we could see clearly without the clouds of coal dust that usually blanket our district, we made love for the first time. Afterwards we lay tangled in each others' arms, whispering words of love and promises of forever. It was the most perfect day of my entire life. As we fell asleep I knew, with absolute certainty, that a future spent doing anything other than being with Gale was no longer an option, if it ever really had been. Somewhat, what had once seemed so impossibly complicated had become very simple: _I am his. He is mine. Anything else is unthinkable._


	3. Calm Before the Storm

**A/N: **So I just couldn't wait any longer to post this chapter. I really loved writing this one, so I hope you guys like it! I should mention that this chapter definitely earns the M rating - aka lemons ahead! If that's not your thing, or if you're under age, turn back now. Everyone else - enjoy ;)

Thanks again to everyone who's reading this, and extra big thanks to all who have taken the time to review! Reading your guys' comments always makes my day :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything and am not making any money off of this.

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Calm Before the Storm**

Being in Gale's arms, his lips moving against mine in ways that send sparks of desire throughout my body, I am able to leave the last of my worry about the reaping behind for the moment.

"Hi," I whisper, still smiling, when we finally come up for air.

"Hi yourself," Gale grins back at me. He bends his head to drop one more quick kiss on my lips before releasing me, chucking softly when he sees me pouting slightly from the loss of contact. "What have you got so far?" he asks, nodding his head in the direction of my game bag as he moves to pick up his own from where he dropped it when I first spotted him.

"A couple rabbits and a squirrel," I answer, retrieving the arrow I had been cleaning and slinging my game bag back over my left shoulder. We begin walking towards our usual spot, a rock that the elements have curved into a comfortable seat at the edge of some trees, overlooking a small valley in the woods. "You get anything good?"

"A turkey, three rabbits, and a beautiful girl with wicked aim," he winks at me, linking his fingers with mine as we walk. I blush but move closer to him, so that the entire length of our arms are touching.

We settle into the comfortable silence that is second nature to us. It still amazes me sometimes - we can (and do tell) each other anything, but often we communicate best without using any words at all. I blush again, thinking about the new form of non-verbal expression we've been getting very good at since my birthday. I sneak a glance up at Gale to find him eyeing me knowingly. Busted, I pivot to stand in front of him, stopping our forward progress. I place my free hand on his chest and slowly raise myself along the length of his body, until my lips are right next his ear. I pause, taking a moment to enjoy the way he tenses in anticipation, before whispering, "Race you there," and darting off.

I hear him groan behind me and glance back quickly to smile widely at his frustrated expression before bursting into a full out run. Then he laughs and I know the chase is on.

I'm a very fast runner, but so is Gale and his long legs give him the advantage over me, so I know he could easily overtake me any time he wants. But he waits until I am almost at our rock, but still under the canopy of the trees, to swoop in, wrapping his arms around my slender waist from behind and lifting me clear off the ground as if I weigh nothing. I laugh giddily as he spins me around a couple of times before setting me back on my feet, turning me to face him as he does so.

"I win," he whispers, his lips just brushing against mine.

"So claim your prize," I breathe back, and this is all the encouragement he needs. He kisses me passionately and I press myself fully against him as I open my mouth eagerly under his assault to let our tongues tangle together. We drop our bags and weapons to the ground, our hunting jackets following shortly after as we push them off each others' shoulders. His hands roam the length of my body and I whimper into his mouth as he cups my ass, grinding lightly against me as he does.

He guides me towards the patch of earth where his jacket has fallen, using it as a makeshift blanket (this is not the first time it has served this purpose). The ground here is soft and mossy, providing some cushioning under the worn leather. I tug him down on top of me, and he settles between my thighs. My legs instinctively come up to cradle his hips, and I roll mine up into him, earning a low moan from him in response. My hands move the hem of his shirt and slide underneath it, running my hands over the taut muscles of his back, pushing his shirt up as I go.

He breaks our kiss just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and slip mine off as well before dipping his head back to mine and pressing the length of our torsos together. The skin-to-skin contact feels impossibly good, especially when Gale begins trailing kisses down the side of my neck. I writhe beneath him, gasping as he reaches my breasts, swirling his tongue around my right nipple while caressing the left with his long, perfect fingers, before switching hand and mouth.

It feels amazing but I need so much more than that right now. "Gale," I whimper, barely recognizing my voice with how wanton I sound. I reach down to the button on his pants, deftly undoing them and sliding my hand inside. He is hard and smooth and perfect and I need him inside me _now_. I tug lightly on his hair, pulling his lips back up to mine. He reaches down to undo my pants, pulling them off me along with my boots as I shove his down as far as I can manage. He helps me by yanking them the rest of the way off and I am infinitely grateful.

The sight of him, naked and beautiful with the sun shining down on his back makes my stomach clench with desire. He is staring at me much the same way that I cannot stop looking at him, and when his eyes finally lift to meet mine, they are nearly black with lust. I have never given much consideration to my appearance - vanity does little to feed to starving mouths - but when he looks at me like this I feel like a goddess. "You're so fucking beautiful, Katniss," he practically growls, sending shivers up my spine, as he slides two of those perfect fingers of his between my legs while moving in to kiss me once more.

He touches me expertly, circling my most sensitive spots with a hunter's precision. Before long I am panting, moaning his name mindlessly as he brings me closer to the edge. "Please," I beg, and with no warning he strokes me twice, hard, in just the right spot and I fall, stars exploding behind my eyes as I grind my hips blindly into his hand.

I barely have time to catch my breath before he is sliding into me, and we moan simultaneously at the sensation. It idly crosses my mind that if one of those predators I was so worried about when Gale first crept on me this morning were to show up now, we would be done for, but this feels so good that I can't bring myself to care. Besides, of all the many ways to die in District 12, this has to be one of the better ones. Then Gale begins to move inside me, and I stop thinking altogether. His movements are slow at first, savouring the sensation, but we soon increase the pace of our lovemaking. I lift my hips to meet his thrusts and gasp for him to go harder, faster, clutching desperately to his back, grazing my teeth lightly down the side of his neck. He is nothing but obliging, and soon I am on the edge again. I come hard, practically shouting out his name before he swallows my cries with his lips on mine. He follows soon after, groaning my name against my mouth.

We lay there, still wrapped around each other, until our ragged breathing begins to even out. Gale props himself above me on his elbows and slides his lips lightly against mine, brushing a strand of hair that has come loose from my braid away from my sweaty forehead. I smile lazily up at him.

"I love you," he whispers almost reverently, still stroking my hair softly.

"I love you too," I whisper back, my fingers echoing his movements as I twist them gently in the hair that's fallen in front of his eyes.

For a while, we are able to pretend - that there is no Panem, no Capitol, no District 12, no reaping, no Hunger Games. Just us, Gale and Katniss, a boy and a girl, free and in love.

* * *

But we cannot pretend forever. Eventually we reluctantly separate and dress, much of the light-hearted spirit from early in the morning disappearing as we note the progress of the sun across the sky, signalling that the reaping is fast approaching. We still have a bit of time, so we build a small fire next to our rock to roast the squirrel I shot. I show Gale the goat cheese Prim left us, and he pulls out of a loaf of bread he got from the bakery this morning, a rare treat for us. I gather a few strawberries from a nearby bush, making sure to collect enough to sell some to Mayor Undersee (they're a favourite of his), and add them to our little feast.

We eat in silence, content again to just be near each other. But Gale's mood darkens as the time goes by, and I catch him looking out over the valley, a contemplative look in his stormy grey eyes. I sigh internally. I know what that look means. It's the same one he gets every time he's about to go off on a rant about the Capitol. It's not that I don't share his feelings - the Capitol is vile and if there was ever a realistic way for us to get out from under their thumb, I'd take it in a heartbeat - but with the reaping this afternoon, I can't help but worry that he'll end up doing something reckless if he lets himself get worked up about it now.

I reach over and take his hand in both of mine, stroking his palm gently in a motion that I know soothes him. I can feel some of the tension seep out of him and move to rest my head against his shoulder.

"We could do it you know," he finally says in a low voice, glancing out over the valley again.

"Do what?" I ask, just as quietly, though I already know the answer.

"Run away. Live in the woods. We could make it," he responds, as I knew he would. Even though we are in the only place we can be alone and safe from the omnipresent eyes and ears of the Capitol, he still glances around warily, as though someone may be listening. I can't really blame him for his caution - what he is saying is treason, and we'd surely be hung in the town square if the wrong person ever heard the things we say out here about the Capitol. He looks at me imploringly, even though he knows my answer will be the same as it always is.

"You know we can't," I reply, the regret clear in my voice. I do wish it could be that simple. He and I probably could make it - we are both strong, we know how to survive on the game and foliage the woods offer, and we both possess that sixth sense that is so essential for effective (and, especially, illegal) hunting - the one that tells you when danger is near before the danger knows _you_ are near. But we have more than just ourselves to think of. "We have our families to take care of."

"We could bring them with us," he counters.

"The kids would never make it," I say, not unkindly. "Rory maybe would be alright, but Prim? Or Vick? Or little Posy? They'd be lucky to survive the first winter."

He is quiet. He knows I'm right. We've had this conversation many times before. We both know that we are needed here. That neither of us could ever live with turning our backs on our responsibilities to our families like this - leaving them to starve, or be punished at the hands of the Capitol for our crimes. Nor could we ever knowingly bring them into a dangerous situation, where harm was almost certain to come to them as a result.

After a little while he sighs in resignation, and wraps his left arm around my shoulder, tucking me into his side. I go willingly, draping my arm across his waist as I bury my face in the crook of his neck. He smells like pine and old leather and just the faintest hint of wood smoke. He smells like home, not just the one I have, but the one I've always wanted.

"Maybe someday, when the kids are older, when we're not needed so much," he says at last, his voice full of sadness, with just the slightest hints of anger at the Capitol for the unfairness of the world they have imposed on us, and also hope - hope that someday we will find a way a to make better lives than what we could ever have inside the fence.

"Maybe someday," I agree, and angle my head up to place a gentle kiss on the underside of his jaw. He smiles down at me, and I am relieved to see that it actually reaches his eyes, even if it doesn't fill them.

We look at the sky again and realize that it is time to go. Returning to life inside the fence is as unavoidable as it is unpleasant, and cannot be put off any longer.

As we gather our things I scan the bushes around us, quickly spotting the blueberries I was searching for. I pluck a few and return to where Gale is still organizing his gear.

"Gale," I call. When looks up, I intone, in my very best Capitol accent, "May the odds…" and toss one of the blueberries into the air.

He catches the berry in his mouth, completing this odd little of ritual of ours by finishing the phrase, "… be ever in your favour," shooting me a wry smile as he does so.

* * *

We make our way quickly back through the forest, and are relieved to find that the fence has not be turned on during our absence. Getting trapped in the woods and missing the reaping as a result is also definitely on the list of hang-able offenses. Once back inside the confines of District 12, we swiftly make our way to the Hob to trade the rabbits. We haggle less than we normally would because we are pressed for time, but still get a fairly decent trade thanks to our long history there.

After the Hob we head to Mayor Undersee's house to sell the strawberries. The mayor himself is not home, no doubt busy with reaping preparations, so his daughter Madge answers the door. Madge is the same age as Gale and I, and is probably the closest thing I have to a friend besides Gale. Like me, Madge generally keeps to herself, though whether that's by choice or because of the resentment directed towards her as a result of her privileged position in the district is hard to say. When we have to partner for work at school, she and will sometimes work together, and every now and then she'll join Gale and I for lunch. He's gradually warmed to her, though he still can't help but begrudge her for her family's relation to the Capitol. Objectively he understands that it's no more her fault that this is the life she was born into than it's his fault that he was born into poverty in the Seam, but it can still be hard to see somebody with everything handed to them while you struggle for every little thing you need.

This is especially true on Reaping Day, when her privilege means she only has 7 slips in the bowl, compared to Gale's 42 and even my 28. Ours are so high because we have both taken the tesserae every year since we became eligible to do so at age 12, for ourselves and each of our family members. Accepting the tesserae adds one slip with your name to the reaping draw, in addition to the one already entered just by virtue of being of eligible age, for every person you take it out for, and the number is multiplied by the number of years you have been in the draw. Since this is our 7th year in the draw, and Gale has accepted the tesserae for 5 people, and I for 3 people, we have more slips in there than most.

The tension between Gale and Madge (well, mostly from Gale towards Madge) is high, and I wish that he had just gone ahead to Old Cray's to sell him the turkey while I went to the Undersee's. Old Cray is the Head Peacekeeper for our district. His positives include an extremely lax attitude towards law enforcement and a willingness to overlook our illegal activities so long as we keep him in turkeys, of which he is quite fond, on a regular basis and at a good price. His negatives include being a complete creep who takes advantage of starving young women to satisfy his … other needs. For this reason, Gale refuses to let me come with him to Cray's and I'm not particularly inclined to argue with him about it.

We part ways on the path leading from the mayor's house back to the Seam with a lingering kiss.

"I'll see you when it's over, for the family feast," Gale says, cupping my cheeks lightly in his palms, leaning his forehead against mine. My anxiety from earlier this morning has returned triple-fold, and it takes all my effort to nod, trying to accept his implicit reassurance that we will all make it through the reaping safely.

"I love you," I respond, tilting my head back to look at him fully.

"Love you too, Catnip." He kisses me once more and then we separate, scurrying off to our respective destinations, now at risk of being very late.

* * *

The reaping in District 12 always begins promptly at 2:00pm, but you have to get there well before then to check in and line up in the correct location. I return home at about 12:30, leaving me with just enough time to wash up in the bath my mother has prepared for me and get dressed before we have to leave for the town square where it will take place.

I've just finished putting on the light blue dress my mother, in a rare maternal gesture, had laid out for me, when she enters the bedroom, Prim trailing behind her. My heart constricts when I see Prim, dressed in the same white blouse and light grey skirt I had worn for my first reaping 6 years ago. She's smaller than I was then, and I can see that the blouse is already coming untucked from the back of the skirt.

"Watch your tail, little duck," I tell her in what I hope is a light-hearted tone of voice, as I bend to tuck her back in. She giggles softly and thanks me, and I am struck again by how innocent she looks, with her soft blond hair and delicate features, so similar to my mother's. Not at all like my olive skin and dark hair, which are more typical of the Seam. It's not fair that any of us must be a part of these Games, this twisted device of the Capitol, but it is especially cruel that children as young and pure as Prim are forced to endure this torture.

Some of what I'm thinking must be showing on my face, because I see Prim's eyes cloud with fear. My expression softens and I pull her into a hug, telling her, "It will be okay, Prim. Your name is only in there once. You won't be called."

"What about you, Katniss?" she asks. "You're in there 28 times." My mother, who I can see watching us over Prim's shoulder, looks pained, but she quickly schools her features into a neutral expression when she catches me looking at her.

"I'll be fine too. There are hundreds, thousands of names in there. Twenty-eight is just a drop in the bucket," I tell her, willing myself to believe it too.

"I thought I'd braid your hair," my mother suddenly interjects. I look at her, surprised, but grateful both for the offer and the change of subject. Thinking about my 28 slips inevitably leads to thinking about Gale's 42, and it is harder to keep the fear I feel at bay when I do that. We've been lucky these past 6 years to not have had our names pulled and every year it becomes a little more likely that that luck will run out. I nod at her and straighten up. She works quickly behind me, pulling my hair into a far more elaborate arrangement than my usual straight braid. Prim watches her quietly, inspecting me carefully when mother finishes.

"You look beautiful Katniss," she pronounces, smiling so brightly at me that I can't help but return it. "Gale will love it," she adds slyly. I blush, hearing my mother chuckle softly behind me.

"You look lovely too, little duck, if you can just keep that tail under control," I tease back. At that moment, a chime sounds in the distance, the warning that everyone should now be making their way to the town square. The brief happy moment is gone. My mother surprises me again when she pulls us both into a fierce hug.

"I love you both, so much," she says, a passion behind her words that I haven't seen from her since before my father died. Then she releases us, sighing that we'd better go or else we'd be late. I nod, and take Prim's tiny hand in mine, and we head to door.

As I walk outside, I'm struck with the sudden feeling that this is the last time I will ever see this house and pause mid-step, turning to look back at my home. Prim tugs lightly on my hand to bring me back to the present and I force my feet forward, trying to shake off the ominous feeling that the odds are no longer in my favour, if indeed they ever were.


	4. The Lucky Ones

**A/N: **As always, a big thank you to everyone who is reading, following, favouriting, and reviewing this story. The night I posted Chapter 2, I was writing Chapter 7 which turned out to be a really tough one to get through (more on that when we get there). Seeing all the emails from people adding this to their follow lists and reading the comments from everyone who reviewed definitely helped keep me going.

I'm going to try to find some time this weekend to respond directly to everyone who's reviewed, but in case I don't get the chance to, please just know that I think you guys are amazing and appreciate your feedback so, so much.

Okay, gushing over. It's time for the reaping! Let's get to it, shall we?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. "The Hunger Games" belong to Suzanne Collins. The chapter title and quoted lyrics are from Bif Naked's "Lucky".

* * *

**Chapter 3 - The Lucky Ones**

_~What could I say to you except I love you / And I'd give my life for yours~_

We reach the town square far faster than I would like, and are quickly shuffled off to our positions after checking in, Prim with the youngest girls at the very front, me with the oldest at the very back. I try to catch a glimpse of Gale across the aisle from me on the boys' side, but being one of the shorter girls my age has a distinct disadvantage in this situation. Even though he still stands a head above most of the boys in our year, I can't see past the sea of people surrounding me.

The Reaping ceremony begins on time, as if Effie Trinket, the escort for District 12, would ever allow anything less than perfect punctuality. As usual she's dressed in the bright colours that are favoured in the Capitol, topped with what I can only imagine is a ridiculous wig in a bright pink colour that is quite possibly the most hideous thing I've ever seen. She's joined on-stage by Mayor Undersee and Haymitch Abernathy. Haymitch is one of only two Victors from District 12 in the entire history of the Hunger Games, and the only one still surviving. It is his job to mentor the tributes from 12 each year. How he manages to do this through the haze of all the alcohol he is constantly consuming is anyone's guess.

I tune out the film being projected onto screens around the square that always starts the ceremony, describing the history of Panem, the failed rebellion, the glory of the Capitol, and the creation of the Hunger Games, to remind the Districts of the price of revolt and the absolute power, mercilessness, and cruelty of the Capitol. Of course, the film puts a somewhat more positive spin on it, but that's the truth that lies under the propaganda. I try again to find Gale, knowing how much he hates being subjected to this, but still have no luck. Then the film is ending and Effie is once again approaching the podium.

"Oh, I just love that. So inspiring!" she chirps, oblivious to the sentiments of her audience. "Well, let's get right to it, shall we?" she adds, when it is clear that she will not be receiving any sort of reaction. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds _be ever in your favour!_"

She approaches the two large crystal bowls filled with slips of paper resting on stands on the stage, and I feel my heart begin to race. "As usual, it's ladies first!" she intones brightly, as her hand reaches into the first bowl, swirling the small pieces of paper. Twenty-eight of those slips have my name on them and they are all that I can think about at this moment. _Please not me, please me not, please not me_, I chant silently, willing her to announce any name but my own as she finally settles on a single slip and lifts it out of the bowl.

And my prayers, which I realize immediately were far too selfish, are indeed answered. It is not my name she calls in her too-happy voice, but: "Primrose Everdeen!"

* * *

For a moment I am frozen, sheer horror filling my entire being. It is not possible. She only had one slip. ONE SLIP. Out of THOUSANDS! It _can't be possible!_ Then I see movement near the front of the crowd and realize that it is Prim, sweet little Prim, who takes pity on ugly old cats and sick little goats, moving stiffly towards the stage. The back of her too-large blouse has slipped out of her skirt again, and it is the sight of that little duck tail that finally snaps me out of my stupor. Before I even fully realize what I'm doing, I'm pushing through people, running to the aisle. From the corner of my eye I can see movement on the boys side, but I have no time to think about what may be happening over there before I am shouting "I volunteer!"

Everything stops. Prim turns to look at me from her position halfway up the stairs, and I rush forward, wanting to pull her as far from that stage as possible. I reach her and push her behind me, declaring again in a much stronger voice than I could have hoped for, "I volunteer as tribute."

Effie appears to be paralyzed with joy. District 12 never has volunteers. Mayor Undersee, sitting on stage, looks impossibly sad, having apparently recognized me as the girl who sells him strawberries. Even drunk-as-a-skunk Haymitch is sitting up a little straighter, the unusualness of all this penetrating the fog of all the booze he has clearly already consumed today.

Prim is clutching to me desperately, screaming "No, Katniss, no! You can't, you can't!" and she sounds so young I know I have made the right decision, even as the full magnitude of what I have done begins to sink in.

"Let go Prim," I insist, urgently but I hope not unkindly, trying to keep my emotions in check. The Capitol, the other tributes, they will all see this, and I know I cannot afford to appear weak. "Please, go find mom."

She only grips me harder, still begging me not to do this and I'm just about to snap at her to let go now! when I feel her hands suddenly slip from my waist. I look behind me to see Gale lifting her off me and the sight of him almost causes me to lose what little control I have left. I am awash with fresh horror, sadness and overwhelming _guilt_ as I realize what this means for us. Our eyes meet, and though he looks devastated, his eyes are also full of love and understanding and I cannot stop the tears that flood my eyes.

"Up you go Catnip," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. I inhale sharply and nod, turning to numbly climb the stairs up to the stage, forcing the stoic mask back in place.

"Well, isn't this exciting, a volunteer in District 12!" Effie practically squeals, clapping her hands like a toddler. I watch as Gale hands Prim off to my mother, who clutches her tightly, and makes his way back to the rest of the boys. I do my best to keep my face impassive, but it is difficult when faced when the inappropriate cheer of Effie Trinket. "What's your name, dear?" she asks.

"Katniss Everdeen," I manage to choke out, my voice no longer as steady as I want it to be. My eyes never leave Gale's face. Normally he is the one person I can count on to ground me, to bring me back to Earth when I am spiralling out of control, but now I strongly suspect that looking at him is only making it harder to appear unaffected by what's happening. But still I can't bring myself to look away, as this is likely the last chance I will ever have to see his face.

"Well, I bet my buttons that was your sister! Don't want her to steal all the glory, hmm?" It is exactly the most appalling thing she could have chosen to say, and I'm almost grateful for it, because the rage that spikes through me helps me focus, replacing fear and devastation with a fiery anger. I cannot help but roll my eyes violently, and Gale's vicious sneer at her words makes me feel slightly better. Better to be united in our loathing of the Capitol than drowning in the grief of separation.

A grumbling starts up amongst the crowd, and Effie's bright expression fades slightly, not understanding just how ill-received her words would be. Fortunately (in a manner of speaking), Haymitch picks this moment to come congratulate me on my fine decision, stumbling across the stage to drop an arm around my shoulders and peer at me intensely. He reeks of booze and filth and it is all I can do not to vomit on him, which, come to think of it, might actually be an improvement over his current odor. He did bump into Effie slightly on his way across the stage, knocking her atrocious wig askew, which redeems him slightly in my eyes.

"I like this one!" he announces after a moment. "She's got…" he pauses, searching for the word, before triumphantly proclaiming, "Spunk! She's got lots of spunk!" Then he turns to the front of the stage, shouting "More than you!" He walks closer to the edge of the stage, directly towards the cameras, with surprising precision given how wasted he is, and repeats, "More than all of you!" It is not clear whether he's addressing the crowd or the Capitol, though it certainly seems to be the latter, but it hardly matters because he caps off this little performance by toppling drunkenly off the stage.

Medics swiftly arrive to cart Haymitch out on a stretcher and Effie, having regained her composure and adjusted her wig as best she could, attempts to get things back on track. My eyes return to Gale's as she clears her throat and says, as brightly as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "Let's get to the boys!"

Once again my heart is in my throat as she reaches into the second crystal bowl. I do not dare breathe, I do not even dare to think as she reaches around for the slip that will bear the name of my co-tribute. I focus on nothing but Gale, who is staring back at me just as intensely. I am so singularly focused on him, on taking these last moments to commit all of his features to memory, as if they weren't already an indelible part of me, that I do not register at first that Effie has finally settled on a slip and announced the boy tribute's name.

It takes me a moment to understand why there is once again an agitated rumbling spreading through the crowd. Why Gale's eyes are now filled with an odd mixture of fury and relief. Why he is moving purposefully again to the front of the crowd.

He is halfway up the aisle when my foggy brain finally pulls up the memory. Effie Trinket, announcing in her ridiculous Capitol accent, the name of the male tribute from District 12: "Gale Hawthorne!"

* * *

Most of the edible plants we are able to pick from the forest grow near the grounds - herbs, berries, the like. But in the fall, some of the trees in the woods bear large round apples, which if you pick them at just the right time are some of the sweetest items we ever have and worth a fair deal at the Hob. The summer when Gale and I were 15 had been unusually hot, so the crop was much smaller than usual. We thought we would be out of luck until one afternoon when we stumbled across a tall tree, flush with apples. After clearing out the lower branches, I wanted to climb higher to retrieve the ones closer to the top. Gale insisted the branches were too thin, that it wasn't safe, but we still didn't have as many as we'd have liked and I was stubborn and sure of my abilities, so I started climbing anyways.

Gale was right. The branches were too thin. A truth that I only accepted when I was about 20 feet up and the one I was resting on snapped beneath me. I plummeted to the ground, landing hard on my back. If it hadn't rained the night before, leaving the soil beneath the tree soft and cushioning, I probably would have died. As it was it felt like all the air had been forced out of my body, like my lungs and veins and heart and muscles had collapsed in on themselves. I couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, couldn't think about anything other than that I was surely dying. The more I tried to breathe and couldn't, the more I panicked, and the harder it became to breathe, creating an impossible cycle. Gale had rushed over and focusing on him had helped me calm down enough to eventually inhale and exhale normally again.

I feel now like I have fallen out of that tree again, watching Gale move up the aisle, only the sight of him getting closer does nothing to alleviate my panic this time.

I try desperately to make sense of everything that has happened in the last few minutes. Effie pulled Prim's one slip out of the girl's bowl, announced her as tribute. I volunteered as tribute, to save Prim. Gale has been selected as the male tribute. There is no one who will volunteer to save him. We will represent District 12 in the 74th Hunger Games. We will go into the Arena with 22 others. We will die. All except one of us. _Only one of us can survive_.

The thought hits me like a jolt of electricity, like touching the fence separating District 12 from the surrounding woods on the rare occasions that it is active.

"No," I breathe, unwilling to accept this cruel twist of fate. "_NO!"_ I shriek, and once again I am moving without thinking, rushing towards the front of the stage. If I can just stop him from climbing the stairs, stop him from joining me on this platform of death, if I can just STOP, somehow, all of this from happening…

But Gale knows me too well, and has already read my intent, even if _I _don't know exactly what it was I intended to do, and is already racing up the steps, colliding with me at the top, wrapping his arms around me and propelling me backwards. Stopping me from doing something reckless, as I was afraid he would do earlier in today when we were in the woods. But I cannot be so easily placated. I am struggling against him, wild in my desperation, not thinking about the cameras or the audience or anything except that this _cannot be happening_.

"Katniss! Katniss!" he is hissing at me urgently, trying to calm me, but I barely hear him.

_This is why I never wanted to fall in love._ The thought comes out of nowhere, and I am so appalled by it, by myself for even thinking it, that all the fight drains out of me. One or both of us may be dead shortly, but I will not let the Capitol turn me into an uncaring monster. I will not let them take this from me. I stop struggling and try to bring my breathing under control, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist. He is holding me just as tightly, whispering that it will be okay. It won't be of course, but there is nothing to be done about it.

Gale cups my cheek in his hand when he senses that I am more under control, and turns my face up to his. I settle a little more looking at him. _We are in this together_, we say without speaking. And as horrible as it is, I find I am very relieved that I won't have to do this alone.

I nod once, telling him that I am okay, and we turn once again to face the crowd and the cameras. Gale faces forward, tucking me into his right side, our arms never unwinding from their places around each others' waists.

I am eager for this to be over. I want to be off this stage, out of the Capitol's spotlight, more than anything right now. I glance over at Effie, who is literally gaping at us. I suppose this has been a rather unusual reaping. But I am much too tense to drag this out any further and she is taking far too long to recover , and finally I can't help but snap at her, "Well let's get on with it already!" I hear Gale snort quietly beside me, but he looks at her with the same hard look I am wearing, a display of solidarity, and she finally stirs herself out of her shock, to announce, if somewhat shakily, "Ladies and gentlemen, how about a big round of applause for your tributes for the 74th Hunger Games!"

Not one person claps. The silence in the square is absolute. I glance up at Gale and can see that he is pleased by this show of defiance, small though it may be. Then, something incredible happens. Someone near the back presses his middle three fingers to his lips and then raises his hand high in the air. One by one, the entire crowd follows. The salute is an old sign, used to say goodbye to a loved one who has died. It is a symbol of the highest honor. And here, today, it means something more. It is a message for the Capitol: _This is wrong. We do not condone this_.

Gale and I both stand up a bit straighter in response to this display of respect. I can see our image being projected on one of the many screens ringing the square, and watch as matching looks of fierce determination settle over both our features. Whatever we may have done to earn such admiration from the citizens of 12, we will not let ourselves lose that in the Arena.

The Peacekeepers begin to press in on the crowd, in response to the growing unrest. Mayor Undersee, clearly wishing to keep things moving before real trouble can break out, walks swiftly to the podium and begins reading the Treaty of Treason. He finishes it much more quickly than usual (though not so quickly as to be blatantly disrespectful), and turns to us. He hesitates briefly, and I immediately understand why. Traditionally, the Reaping ceremony ends with the mayor instructing the tributes to shake hands, a gesture meant to indicate acceptance of the other as a competitor in the impending fight to the death. Gale and I are still wrapped tightly in each others' arms. We do not, will not, accept each other as competitors. Finally he seems to decide to just get it over with and says the required line, asking us to shake hands.

We do not hesitate. We know we are both thinking the same thing. Gale turns to face me, using his grip on my waist to lift me slightly. In the same motion, I raise my right hand up to wrap around his neck, pulling him down towards me. Our lips meet somewhere in the middle in a passionate kiss, and our message is as clear as that of the crowd when they raised their hands in the traditional salute: _We will not be broken._


	5. Goodbye to Everything I Thought I Knew

**A/N:** I have good news and bad news. The bad news: This weekend turned into a total disasterbacle and this week is going to be super busy, so I won't be updating as often as last week. The good news: I've still got several chapters ready in advance, so the updates will keep coming, they'll just be a bit more spread out. I'll have the next one up on Thursday or Friday, I promise.

Thank you again to everyone who's reading and reviewing. I'm truly sorry that I didn't have time to respond directly to everyone, but reading all your comments helped make a crappy weekend a little better, so I'm sending much love your way :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. "The Hunger Games" belong to Suzanne Collins. The chapter title and quoted lyrics are from Michelle Branch's "Goodbye to You".

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Goodbye to Everything I Thought I Knew**

_~ Of all the things I've believed in / I just want to get it over with_

_Tears form behind my eyes but I do not cry~_

The Peacekeepers move in swiftly from the edges of the stage to pull Gale and I apart and march us into the Justice Building. The town square is in a state of uproar and, as we are forced inside, I glance back to see dozens of Peacekeepers pressing in on the crowd. I hope fervently that no one is hurt and then the doors of the building close with a loud thud, cutting us off from the outside world.

Two Peacekeepers guide me with firm grips on each of my arms to a nearby room on the left side of the hallway. Gale is evidently going to be taken to a separate room, and I think briefly about protesting, but decide against it. We've already caused enough trouble for now. The last thing I see as I am shoved into the room is Gale looking back over his shoulder at me, giving me a small smile that is meant to be reassuring, but is also clearly laced with pain. Then the door is slammed shut behind me and I am alone.

I spend a moment observing my surroundings as this is, thankfully, the first time I have ever been inside the Justice Building. The room is smaller than I expected, but our bedroom in the Seam could still fit inside it with space to spare. The carpet beneath my feet is thick and plush and I feel like I am sinking into it, like quicksand. On the wall opposite the door there is a large window, no doubt nailed shut, covered in a thick layer of coal dust so that little daylight enters through it. The window is framed by thick curtains, black as coal itself, but with threads of gold woven throughout. The walls are covered with a dark wood panelling that extends all the way to the high ceiling. Hanging from that ceiling, nearly 25 feet above me, is the sole source of light in the room, an ornate chandelier. The room is sparsely furnished otherwise - there are two small tables made of the same dark wood as the wall panelling, and a low couch and two chairs, all covered in a material I recognize from one of my mother's dresses as velvet. This velvet is a deep, blood red and I shudder as I look at it, wondering if the colour was chosen specifically to unsettle the freshly reaped tributes. _The Capitol really does think of everything_, I think wryly.

This is, without question, the fanciest place I have ever been in my entire life. Its contents are probably worth enough to feed my family and Gale's for a few months. And I know that this room barely even hints at the level of extravagance and decadence we will witness in the Capitol. The whole thing makes me sick.

When the door first closed behind me, I expected a flood of emotion to overtake me - anger, grief, terror. Instead I feel strangely numb. Everything since the reaping began feels like it has happened to someone other than myself - like I have just been observing someone else's tragedy from a safe distance. I know this feeling will not last, but I embrace it now with all my strength. Soon visitors will come in to say their goodbyes to me, and then Gale and I will be taken to the train station, where we will board our ride to the Capitol. There will be cameras there, and if I let myself succumb to the emotions I know are roiling somewhere below my cool exterior, they will see it. My eyes and nose will be red, my face a study in heartache. I will look weak, and that will make me a target. It will make _Gale_ a target too, and I know I have to stay strong for both of us. So I build up the layers of my shell as thick as I can, steeling myself for what's to come.

Suddenly the door flies open and Prim and my mother burst into the room. "You have three minutes," the Peacekeeper who must be guarding my room announces, before pulling the door shut again.

Prim and my mother wrap their arms around me simultaneously, Prim around my waist, mother around my shoulders. I can tell from their faces that they've been crying, but are trying to appear strong now, for my sake. My heart aches looking at them, but I push the pain down. We don't have much time and there is so much I need to say to them.

"Oh, Katniss," Prim sobs, though her eyes stay dry for now, "why did you have to do that? It should have been me."

My mother releases me and I turn all my attention to Prim, kneeling down so that our faces are level. "Prim, I had to do it because I love you so, so much. You know I couldn't let you go into the Arena. They shouldn't even be allowed to reap people your age." I hear my mother gasp quietly at my defiant words, but I ignore her. What difference can it make now?

I cup Prim's face lightly in my palms, and begin speaking urgently. "Listen to me, okay? This is really important." She nods, her eyes clear and focused on mine. "You're going to be alright. You can get milk and cheese from your goat, and you can use that book of Dad's that I showed you to find herbs and berries and vegetables that you can eat. And I'm sure that Gale's family is promising him right now that they'll help you, so you let them, okay? You help each other. Whatever you do, don't take out the tesserae. You can get by without it, and it's not worth the extra slips. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she replies, her voice strong. "You don't have to worry about us, Katniss. We'll all take care of each other." Her gentle features are filled with a determination I've never seen before, and I love her so much it breaks my heart.

"I love you, little duck," I say, forcing my own voice to stay strong.

"I love you too, Katniss. Promise me …" she starts, then pauses, trying to find the right words. Finally, she continues, "Promise me you won't let them beat you," her eyes bright and impossibly understanding for one so young. She does not make me promise to win - for me to win, Gale would have to die and she knows there is no way I could ever promise that. No, we both know that I cannot promise to come home, that it is all but impossible that I will. But if I am going to die, it will be as myself, on my own terms, not theirs.

"I promise," I whisper hoarsely, pulling her tightly to me.

After a long moment I release her and stand to look at my mother. "You," I say, more harshly than I should, but we are running out of time and my composure is starting to slip, "you have to promise me that you won't disappear again. That you'll take care of Prim. You're all she has now."

My mother's eyes have widen slightly at the intensity of my words, but she answers quickly, "I know. I will."

It is not enough for me. "_Promise me_ that you will," I insist. "This _can't _be like when Dad died."

Her eyes narrow at this. "I was sick then," she says defensively. "I couldn't help it. If I had had the herbs that I have now, I could have treated myself."

"Well then take them," I press.

She nods, a look of steely resolve filling her eyes. "I will. I promise. We'll be okay, Katniss. I won't let you down, I swear." I decide that she means it, though it's not as if I have much choice but to trust her.

The door opens again and my guard tells us that time's up. All three of us embrace again, and we whisper 'I love you's' and then the guard decides we are taking too long and grabs Prim and my mother away, hauling them outside. The door closes and I am alone again, fighting the urge to run after them, to demand they brought back, to beg to be given just a little more time with them.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to regain some of the calm I felt when I was first brought in here. After a moment I hear the door open again and open my eyes, expecting to see Gale's family trooping in. I am extremely surprised to instead find Peeta Mellark, the son of the town baker, staring back at me.

Peeta is my age, and in many ways the exact opposite of me. Whereas I am sullen and withdrawn almost all of the time (except with Prim and Gale), he is bright and open, friendly to everyone, with an easy charm and relaxed manner that make him very popular at school. Given that he is also from the town, rather than the Seam, and thus relatively privileged, we have never had any reason to interact. Except for that one time when he saved my life.

It had been nearly three months since the accident that took my father's life, and we were on the verge of starving to death. My mother was still catatonic and doing nothing to contribute to our welfare - doing literally nothing at all. I had been doing the best I could to keep us fed, not wanting anyone to notice and take Prim and I away from her. If that happened, we would be sent to a community home, which would be even worse than our current circumstance. But it still wasn't enough and our situation was getting worse by the day. I had taken out the tesserae for all of us, but it provided barely enough to subsist on and we were all sick from malnourishment. The winter had been much colder than usual, or perhaps it was just my constantly empty stomach that made it seem that way, and there was nothing growing inside the fence to add to our supplies.

One night, nearly blind with hunger, I had swallowed the last of my pride and decided to creep along the back alley that lined the houses of the people in town, hoping to find something to bring home from one of their garbage bins. Stealing is illegal, but garbage, once on the street, is generally considered fair game. The challenge was getting there at the right time, before the sanitation workers emptied the bins. Luck was not on my side this night, as every bin I checked was completely empty. It had also started pouring a cold rain, only adding to my despair.

When I reached the small yard behind the bakery, I found myself captivated by the warm smell of fresh bread coming from inside. I sat down heavily in the mud, thinking that I might just die there, lulled into complacency by starvation and exhaustion and the delicious aroma that permeated the air.

The back door had opened and Mrs. Mellark had come out with Peeta trailing behind her, tossing some slop toward the pig pen in their backyard. She spotted me and immediately started screeching at me to move along already, or she would summon the Peacekeepers to take me into custody. Peeta looked ashamed at his mother's behaviour but said nothing, and the threat roused me enough to drag myself slowly away.

But when I heard the door slam, indicating she had gone back inside, something compelled to return to where I had been. I stayed a bit further back this time, hopefully better concealed in the trees that lined the path. Some time passed, and then the door opened again. This time only Peeta came out, two loaves of bread in his hands. I could hear his mother yelling about how clumsy he was, burning bread like an idiot. He walked to the pig pen and then made as if to throw pieces of the what I could see now were burnt loaves to the pigs, before stopping to scan the tree line.

Our eyes locked briefly. He glanced towards the house, checking to see if his mother was still watching, I realized. When he decided the coast was clear, he tossed the two loaves casually in my direction, and walked back inside without a second glance at me.

As soon as he was gone I had scooped up the loaves he clearly intended me to have and ran home with my prize. The loaves were fine, just blackened on the outside, but still soft and chewy inside, making me suspect he had burned them on purpose. This was hearty bread too - made from fine grains, with nuts and cranberries baked in. Prim and I had one loaf for dinner that night, and even got mother to eat some for once. We split the second between breakfast and lunch the following day. They were the best meals we had had in weeks, and lifted our spirits as much as they filled our stomachs.

All the following day I tried to find an opportunity to thank Peeta for his act of kindness, but he was always surrounded by people. At the end of the school day, our eyes had met across the yard. After a moment he nodded and then looked away, and I assumed he knew I was grateful. I looked down then too, only to see the first flower of spring, a bright yellow dandelion, blooming at my feet. It appeared like a symbol of hope to me, of renewal. The wind blew strongly then, tilting the dandelion and my gaze followed the direction in which it bent - across the Seam, through the meadow, to the woods beyond. Suddenly, I knew what to do to keep my family alive. That night I went hunting in the woods for the first time without my father, using the skills he had taught me to begin to repair at least the physical void his absence had left in our lives.

I never spoke to Peeta about what had happened, though I always felt that I owed him not just my life, but Prim's and my mother's as well. I figured he had forgotten all about the incident but now that he was standing before me, I suspected that I was wrong about that.

"Hi," he finally says, somewhat uncomfortably, breaking the silence.

I realize that I have been practically gaping at him and snap my mouth shut, opening it again to reply, "Hi. What are you doing here?" I realize how awful that sounds, and begin to apologize, "Sorry, I'm just…"

"It's okay," he interrupts, moving further into the room. I notice for the first time that he is holding a small package in his hands. "I can only imagine what you're feeling right now."

Not knowing what to say, I just nod, accepting the sentiment. He continues, "I know we don't really know each other, but I just … I wanted to let you know that I wish this hadn't happened to you." He says that this so intensely that I look up to meet his eyes, and am amazed at the depth of emotion that I see there. I didn't think he even knew who I was, let alone that he cared about me in any sort of meaningful way.

It throws me, and I have no clue how to respond, so I decide instead to take the opportunity to say something I should have said long ago: "Thank you. Not just for that, I mean, but for that day, with the bread." I guess that he knows what I am referring to and he nods, confirming my belief. "You saved my life that day. And my sister and mother's life. We owe you so much."

At this he shakes his head vigorously. "You don't owe us anything. And I promise, my father and I, we'll help take care of them when you're gone. We won't let them starve." I have no idea what I have done to earn such devotion and it makes me more than a little bit uncomfortable, but I am very grateful for it, and it must show on my face because he beams at me.

"Thank you. I … you have no idea what that means to me," is all I can think to say.

He nods again, and then approaches me, extending the package in his hands, which I had forgotten about until now. "Here, it's not much, but just … something that might remind you of home," he says sadly. I take it, thanking him again, and then the Peacekeeper opens the door, signalling that it's time for him to go. He surprises me again by grabbing me tightly in a fierce hug, which I awkwardly return, and then he is heading out the door, turning back to tell me quickly, "Be safe. They will be too, I promise."

I stare slack-jawed at the door for a moment, before turning my gaze to the package in my hand. I untie the string keeping the small bundle closed and pull back the soft cloth to find half a dozen cookies, flower-shaped and painted bright yellow with green stems - dandelions, I realize. Once again I am stunned, wondering how on earth Peeta could have known about this, or if it was just pure coincidence.

I am still reeling, both from the odd encounter with Peeta and the gift he gave me, when the door opens again. This time it is the Hawthornes who enter, all of them except Gale of course. Little Posy, only six years old, is the first through and launches herself directly at me, wrapping her arms tightly around my thighs. She is crying, probably hasn't stopped since the reaping. I wonder how much of this she really understands, but it is obviously enough to know that both Gale and I are going away and that we might not be coming back. "Please don't go, Katniss!" she wails, "And don't let Gale go either!" and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to burst into tears right then. She looks so much like Prim did at that age. I lean down to pull her up in my arms, holding her against my side. She buries her face in my neck and I whisper to her soothingly. Her sobs quiet a little, turning into hiccups, and I look around at the others.

Vick, a year younger than Prim, is staring at the floor, his expression somber. Rory, at 15, already looks so much like Gale that my breath catches in my throat. He is staring at me, the same fierce anger in his eyes that I have seen so many times in Gale's. "We'll take care of them," he tells me firmly.

"I know you will," I answer, my faith in him clear in my voice. When Rory turned 12 and became eligible for reaping, Gale and I began taking him to the woods with us sometimes, teaching him how to hunt. He got the hang of the bow quickly, and although his snares are not quite as good as Gale's, I have no doubt that he'll be able to bring in plenty of good game. In the last year we started bringing him to the Hob as well, so I know that he can handle himself there as well.

Hazelle comes up to me and hugs me tightly. Over the last few years she has been like a mother to me, sometimes even moreso than my actual mother. I know she must feel like she is losing not only her son, but a daughter as well. "I'm so sorry," I blurt out, my voice thick with emotion.

She shakes her head sternly, lips pressed into a thin line. "Just take care of each other," she tells me. I nod, of course - there was never any question about that.

We are mostly quiet for the rest of our time together. When the Peacekeeper opens the door again, I hug each of them. Even shy little Vick lets me pull him into my arms. Finally I hand off Posy to her mother, and then they are gone.

I no longer feel numb, but instead am filled with grim resignation. I'm not expecting any more visitors, so I am startled when the door opens again, revealing Madge Undersee. It seems this day is just filled with surprises.

She walks briskly towards me, and I catch sight of something shiny in her hands.

"I wanted to bring you this," she begins with no preamble, holding her hand out for me to see what it contains. It's a small gold pin, in the shape of a bird, its wings spread as if it was cast with gold mid-flight. The tips of the wings and the end of the tail rest atop the edges of a gold circle, the bird captured - or more accurately, escaping from - its ring. It's probably worth money than I could earn in two years trading game at the Hob.

"It's beautiful," I breathe, "but Madge I can't accept this. It's too much."

"Don't be silly," she replies. "I want you to have it. You're allowed to bring one thing with you into the Arena, to wear as a token of your district. This could be yours." I look at it more closely, and realize that the bird is actually a mockingjay.

My eyes fly up to hers, and I am stunned by the rebellious glint I see there. I understand now why she wants me to have this. Mockingjays are a symbol of defiance to the Capitol. During the rebellion, the Capitol bred all sorts of horrible species to use in the war, 'muttations' we call them. One of those were jabberjays, male birds which could memorize long strings of human speech and repeat the words later. The Capitol used them to spy on the rebels. When the districts realized what was happening, they began feeding all sorts of lies to the jabberjays, rendering the birds useless. Angry at having their tool turned against them, the Capitol released the birds into the wild, expecting them to die off. Instead they began mating with female mockingbirds, creating the mockingjay species. The mockingjays do not have the ability to replicate human speech, but they can still pick up songs and melodies, if they like your voice. The Capitol despises them, seeing them as a living reminder of their failure.

"Can I?" she asks, gesturing near the collar of my dress. I nod, and she pins the token on the left side of my dress, just above my heart. She steps back, looking pleased.

"Thank you," I say sincerely.

She nods once, then smiles conspiratorially, "Give 'em hell out there." Then she is gone, and I am left alone until it is time to leave for the train station.


	6. A Star is Born

**A/N**: Big, BIG thanks to everyone who's reading and to all of my lovely reviewers. Speaking of reviews, it's my birthday tomorrow, and they make the very best presents (hint, hint) :p Next chapter will be up sometime this weekend!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, nor am I making any money off of this.

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**Chapter 5 - A Star is Born**

Maybe 10 minutes go by before the Peacekeepers come to retrieve me. I pass the time pacing, trying not to picture Prim's face as she was torn away from me, trying to ignore the blood red furniture and all the images of death locked in my brain from watching previous years' Games that it brings to mind, trying not to imagine what will be in store for me in the Arena. Basically trying not to think at all. I am so agitated by the time the door finally opens, that I eagerly follow my armed escort, now four strong, away from the room.

One of them walks in front of me, one behind, and the other two flank my sides. I see little of the Justice Building as we wind our way through it, their pristine white uniforms filling my vision. Finally we emerge from a door in the back of the structure, and I blink at the sudden brightness, having grown accustomed to the dim interior of the building. There's a line of six cars waiting, one for each of Gale and myself, another each for Haymitch and Effie who I can see are already inside their vehicles, and two on either end to guard the procession.

Amidst the sea of Peacekeepers I finally spot Gale's head, standing near the fourth car in the line. He seems to be arguing with them, and as we get closer to the car that is to be mine, I can hear what he is saying.

"I just want to ride in the same damn car as her. Is that really so much to ask?" he is demanding angrily. He hasn't noticed us yet, and I take advantage of my guards' momentary distraction as they observe the commotion to push past them, shouting "Gale!" and start running towards him.

His head snaps up when he hears me call his name and he moves to shove past the Peacekeepers standing between us. Someone shouts an exasperated "Let him go," and the guards move aside, apparently having decided it's not worth the fight. I launch myself at him as soon as he is close enough, throwing my arms around his neck while he wraps his securely around my waist.

"Are you okay?" we ask at the same time, which makes us both smile.

I hear one of the Peacekeepers say, "Oh screw it, just let them go together. We don't want to be late." I assume he's in charge because the others listen to him, one of them coming up to steer us in the direction of the car originally assigned to Gale. I climb in first, Gale after me, and then he turns and yanks the door shut before the Peacekeepers have a chance to do it, earning us a massive eye roll from the one standing closest to the car. We respond with matching jaunty waves, which is much politer than gesture we actually want to make. They did let us ride together, after all.

The car begins to move and Gale turns in his seat to face me. The brief moment of levity disappears as soon as our eyes meet. I crawl over to curl up in his lap and bury my face against his right shoulder as he tries to somehow fold my entire body into his arms.

"You got presents," he observes, noticing the pin on my dress and the package that I have placed beside me on the seat.

I nod, "Madge gave me the pin, to be my district token in the Arena. And Peeta Mellark brought me cookies." That's a serious oversimplification of my meeting with Peeta, but I don't really feel like getting into the whole thing now. Gale knows about the time Peeta gave me the bread, but I can tell by the way that he tenses that he's less than pleased to hear he came to see me.

"I never did like the way that guy looked at you," he grumbles.

I sigh, "It doesn't matter how he looks at me. You're the only one I ever wanted looking at me," and kiss his neck lightly. I really don't want to argue about Peeta Mellark now. It's not like Gale would ever have anything to worry about from him anyway, and it seems extra irrelevant now that Gale and I will likely both be dead within the next couple of weeks.

He relaxes, hopefully realizing how absurd he's being, and replies "I know, I'm sorry."

I fidget mindlessly with one of the buttons on his shirt, feeling compelled to add, "He promised to help take care of my mom and Prim, to make sure they have food."

He chuckles ruefully, "Well that sure makes it hard for me to hate him," but he lets it drop.

"This is such a mess," I mutter miserably after a moment.

"I know," he sighs into my hair, his hand rubbing small soothing circles up and down my back. "Catnip, I want you to know, when we're in the Arena," he starts, but I stop him, placing my right thumb lightly over his lips before stroking his cheek softly with my hand.

He looks at me in surprise. I cast my eyes meaningfully around the car and move my hand up to tug lightly on his earlobe, hoping he understands what I'm trying to convey. We are alone in the car except for our driver, who is separated from us by a thick pane of tinted glass. But even assuming that glass is soundproof, the Capitol is well-known for having ears everywhere and it is very likely that we are being bugged. We cannot speak freely here.

Gale's eyes alight with understanding and a wave of irritation passes over his features. I lean up, putting my lips right to his ear and whisper as quietly as I can, "_Later."_ I move back slightly to look at him and he nods, placing a kiss on my forehead.

I settle back against him and we are silent for the rest of the ride, each of us lost in our own thoughts but taking comfort from being together. I suspect Gale's thoughts are running along much the same line as are mine - wondering what is going to happen to us when get into the Arena.

It's possible that we'll both be killed early on, either at the hands of the other tributes or from dehydration or exposure, or maybe some trick of the Gamemakers. But we are both strong, accustomed to enduring extreme hunger and the elements, and more than capable of taking care of ourselves. We both have the same powerful survival instinct that will drive us to keep going when weaker tributes might give up. And we work seamlessly together, thanks to our years of hunting. Other tributes will certainly form alliances, but they won't have the same bond, the same ability to communicate without speaking a word, or the same level of trust that Gale and I do. Together we stand a good chance of outlasting most of the other tributes. And there is no question that we will both do whatever we can to keep the other alive as long as possible - neither of us will be abandoning the other to die from untreated wounds or lack of water, and it is unthinkable that either of us would ever turn on the other to ensure victory for ourselves.

No, the real question is what we will do if we should find ourselves the last two standing. It is ironic that that is the outcome that we will fight unrelentingly to ensure, and yet it is also quite possibly the worst outcome imaginable.

I know that we should try to come to an agreement to make sure that if that does happen, one of us comes home. Our families need us, though maybe a bit less than they did a couple years ago now that Rory can hunt and Prim is getting very good at working with herbs. But with the riches that come with being a Victor, whoever survives could take care of everyone for their rest of all of their lives. Prim and Posy would be safe from a life of hardship; our mothers wouldn't have to work their fingers to the bone until they died of disease or old age; Rory and Vick would never have to know the horrors of the coal mines.

If Gale would let me, I would gladly sacrifice myself so that he could return. And I know beyond any doubt that he would do the same thing for me. But he would never let me do that for him, any more than I could let him do it for me. For either of us, to come back home after watching the other die, knowing it was so that we could live, would be a fate worse than dying slowly in the Arena at the hands of the most vicious muttations the Capitol could dream up. There would be no true home to even come back to after enduring that. And if I'm honest with myself, I know that our families would rather starve to death in the Seam than accept anything from the Capitol, if the price of doing so was one of us destroying ourselves for the other.

No, the only options are for both of us to walk out of the Arena alive, or for both of us to die inside it. And the former option is all but impossible. Short of some rule change allowing for two Victors instead of one, there is no way for that to even happen. And for such a rule change to occur, we would need an unbelievable combination of luck and mercy. Given all that's taken place today, I know better than to pin my hopes on such graces - Gale and I clearly have no luck, and the Capitol has never had any mercy.

So it seems that the only _real _option for us is to die together. If we are indeed the last tributes alive, we'll have to find a way to do it quickly, so that we'll both be dead before the Capitol's hovercrafts can reach us and salvage the life of whoever is further from death. A fast-acting poison is the best chance we'll have, if we can come across something in the Arena. If not, simultaneous arrows shot straight through each others' heart should do it. If we don't have bows in there, we'll just have to wing it.

I'm amazed and also kind of appalled that I can plan our deaths with such clinical detachment, and I shudder involuntarily. Gale squeezes me tighter, and then places two fingers under my chin, tilting my face up to his. I shake my head at the question in his eyes, and again mouth the word, "Later."

He studies me carefully, lovingly, for a moment, before he speaks, "Catnip, no matter what happens in there, I promise, we're in this together. Always." His tone is thick with meaning, and I am certain that I was right - he was thinking the same thoughts I was, and seems to have come to the same conclusions I have.

"Always," I echo in agreement, my voice hoarse, trying to let all the love that I feel for him shine through my eyes.

Our lips meet in a soft kiss, sealing the vow we have made to each other. All the emotion of the day finally starts to catch up with us as our mouths move together, deepening the kiss and soon we are clutching each other desperately, forgetting entirely about our surroundings. All the fear, anxiety, anger, dread, desperation, grief and too many others to name are now fuelling a frantic need to be closer, to feel more, and suddenly I am straddling his lap, our bodies pressed tightly together.

In our blind passion, we fail to notice that the car has come to a stop. So this is how the cameras find us when the car door is suddenly flung open, revealing us to the greedy eyes of the Capitol press.

* * *

We freeze in the flashing lights of the cameras. After a moment, I recognize Effie Trinket, standing next to the open door. Her expression remains bright, people _are_ watching you know, but her posture is rigid and I can read the surprise and disapproval and something else I can't quite place under her cheerful exterior. She makes some silly comment about "interrupting the lovebirds" and the crowd titters with delight, and then she is urging us out of the car.

I desperately wish I had a moment to compose myself, but the universe is not interested in granting my wishes today. Instead I carefully extract myself from Gale's grasp and crawl awkwardly out of the car, standing in front of the door to block the cameras' view inside. I know Gale needs more than just a moment to, well, _compose_ himself, and so I stand there, a falsely happy smile on my face, waving manically at the crowd to buy him some time. This also has the unintentional effect of delighting Effie, and while I don't particularly care how she feels about us, we do need her help and it can't hurt to get on her good side when we can. Especially since I'm already sure we'll be much, much better at getting on her bad side.

Eventually I feel Gale's hand pressing lightly on the small of my back, and I step aside. He slides gracefully out of the car, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he does. He plasters on the same fake smile that I'm wearing and lifts his hand, greeting the crowd. The reporters immediately fall in love with him, and I'm not surprised - I knew his good looks would make him an instant hit with the Capitol audience. Effie is practically over the moon that we have decided to be so agreeable, and I almost feel bad for her, knowing how much it will disappoint her when she sees that it won't last.

After a few more minutes of this, Effie finally starts to lead us along the platform towards the train. Gale takes my hand as we walk, and the crowd erupts again when they catch sight of it. I notice Haymitch stumbling along drunkenly behind us, a contingent of Peacekeepers being the only thing preventing him from falling either into the crowd or under the train. We pause one last time to wave to our adoring fans on the steps leading up to the train, and then we head inside.

As soon as the door closes behind us Haymitch disappears in search of the nearest bottle of liquor, and Gale and I deflate like popped balloons, sharing an exhausted look with a hint of wry amusement. Effie, however, is just getting started. "Oh that was marvellous, just marvellous!" she squeaks, almost fluttering with glee. "They absolutely adored you! And you two, I must say I'm surprised. Happily surprised, of course! I thought I was going to have to work much, much, much harder to make you presentable, but you just went for it! Of course, you still need a lot of work to _look_ suitable, but if you can keep up those sunny attitudes you'll be miles ahead!"

"Huzzah," Gale comments flatly, and now it is Effie's turn to deflate as she finally notices the twin scowls we are directing at her.

"Of course," she sighs, as if this is just the hardest burden she has ever had to bear (which seems unlikely given that she has to deal with _Haymitch_ on a regular basis). "I should have known it wouldn't be that easy." Then she shakes herself lightly and brightens again, continuing, "Never mind, we'll make stars of you two yet! Come on, I'll show you your rooms."

"Goody," I mutter, and Gale snorts. Effie rolls her eyes and begins walking down the hallway to the left of the door we entered through. We follow behind her, grinning to ourselves. Once again I find I am incredibly glad that Gale is here, even though I hate with every fibre of my being that we are both _here_.

We arrive at a door labelled 'Katniss Everdeen.' Effie pushes it open, gesturing for me to enter.

My jaw drops as soon as I step inside. It's _huge_ - the room in the Justice Building seems like a closet by comparison. In the corner, under a small window with heavy drapes is an absolutely massive bed, covered with a fur comforter, silk sheets, and what must be a dozen thick pillows. Along the opposite wall is a large dresser, which I assume is already filled with clothes, since there would be no need for it otherwise - we have nothing with us but the clothes on our backs. On the right-hand side there is an entrance to a richly appointed bathroom. The whole thing looks downright decadent.

Gale gives a low whistle of appreciation and I turn to see him standing over my shoulder, his gaze fixed on the enormous bed. _Boys_, I think to myself, rolling my eyes internally, though I admit it does look like it could be quite … enjoyable.

"You'll find everything you need in the dresser," Effie says, breaking our reverie. "Dinner is in an hour, please find something suitable to wear and don't be late. Gale, come with me to your room."

Gale casts one last longing look in my direction, his eyes flickering briefly to the bed behind me. I smile slyly at him and he winks at me in response before Effie shuts the door.

* * *

I shake my head in amusement and head to the bathroom, stripping off my reaping dress as I go. In the bathroom, I find myself again gawking in amazement. Most of the room is taken up with a huge shower. It has numerous nozzles and more buttons that I can count. I have no clue what any of them do. I've never even taken a proper shower before, thanks to the lack of running hot water in the Seam. I push a few at random and immediately shriek as I am hit with a stream of searingly hot water, another of freezing cold water (_why would that even _be _an option?_), and one of some bright orange goo that smells like ginger. I hit a few more and manage to get rid of the cold water and make the hot water a more bearable temperature, but also get blasted with another stream of something that smells strongly of lemons. "Good enough," I mumble, letting the thing lather me up and rinse me off.

Eventually I step out and grab a nearby towel, drying myself quickly. I take down my damp hair and redo into as close an approximation of my mother's braid as I can. I wander over to the dresser and am instantly horrified by its contents when I open the top drawer. Everything I see is bright pink or orange, lace and frills and freaking _tassles_ everywhere. After trying a couple more drawers I eventually find one that seems to contain items slightly more suited to my tastes. I dig out a simple black underwear set, a pair of soft black pants and a dark green sleeveless shirt. The top hangs loosely on me, held up on my shoulders by a pair of wide straps. I find a pair of flat black shoes in the bottom drawer and slip my feet into them.

Now dressed, I find I am in no hurry to get to dinner, so I sit on the large bed, pulling my knees up to my chest and resting my chin on top of them. I wonder what Prim is doing right now, how my mother is holding up, whether they are with the Hawthornes or at our house alone. I hope they are with Gale's family - just as he and I are in this together here, our families need each other now more than ever. I stroke the soft covers beneath me idly, wishing for all the world that I was in the Seam, sitting on my tiny bed, with its coarse sheets that are never quite warm enough, instead. I frown as I realize belatedly that I forgot the cookies Peeta had given me in the car in all the craziness of our arrival and feel guilty for not taking better care of his thoughtful gift. The thought compels me to retrieve the pin Madge had given me from my reaping dress and put it on my shirt, before resuming my position on the bed.

I'm not sure how long I sit there before a knock on my door snaps me out of my melancholy thoughts. "Come in," I call, and am unsurprised when Gale enters, closing the door lightly behind him. He looks distinctly put out and when he gets closer, I understand why.

"Why do you smell like lavender?" I blurt out, wrinkling my nose.

"Why do _you_ smell like holiday cookies and…" he sniffs the air near me, trying to identify the scent, finally landing on, "lemons?"

"These showers are way too complicated," I grumble.

"No shit," he answers dryly.

"Well I guess we should just be glad _that_ wasn't an option," I say, grimacing, earning a short bark of laughter from him in response.

"You look nice," he says, taking one of my hands from where they were linked around my legs and kissing the palm, sending pleasant tingles up my arm.

"So do you," I smile shyly. He really does - he's wearing black pants similar to the ones I picked out and a deep blue t-shirt that makes his eyes look like liquid silver and accentuates the firm muscles of his chest and arms. Somehow I stop myself from openly drooling looking at him, but just barely. Then I cringe, remembering some of the contents of the drawers. "You wouldn't believe some of the stuff in that thing," I add, inclining my head in the direction of the dresser.

Gale grins widely at this. "Can I see?" I shrug my shoulders in acquiescence and he walks over to the dresser, opening the top drawer. Upon seeing what's inside he immediately bursts out laughing, and I can't help but grin back. He sifts the contents around a little bit, eventually pulls out one item in particular.

He turns back to me, and I see that he is holding up what could be considered a dress if you were being _very_ generous. It is a vibrant shade of dark pink, obscenely short, with two tiny straps instead of sleeves, and made entirely of sheer lace with twin tassles strategically placed on the breasts. Why on earth anyone would _ever _have a reason to wear such a thing is beyond me, never mind on _this_ train.

"I don't know, Catnip," he says, his eyes sparkling with amusement, "I wouldn't mind getting a look at you in this."

I snort. "I'm pretty sure I'd look only slightly less ridiculous wearing that than _you _would."

"Hey, I'm game to find out if you are," he intones seriously, eyes still dancing.

I start giggling as the mental picture of Gale in that dress hits me, but before I can say anything in response the door opens and Effie is once again standing there, looking irritated with us. I wonder how long it will take her to learn to knock before opening a door if she doesn't want to be constantly put off by our behaviour.

Gale tries to provoke her further, asking, "What do you think, Effie - wouldn't this be a great 'star-making' outfit for my interview?" I duck my head to hide my laughter.

She evidently decides to ignore him, snapping, "Dinner is being served now. You're late. Follow me to the dining car." She turns on her heel and stomps off. We trail slowly behind her, linking hands and laughing quietly to ourselves the whole way.


	7. The Kiss Heard 'Round the World

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone for all the birthday wishes and awesome feedback! I had no idea that lavender-smelling, lingerie-sporting Gale would be so popular lol. But alas, things cannot stay so light-hearted for our heroes. So brace yourselves, cuz things are about to get real. Everyone ready? Then let's get to it.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

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**Chapter 6 - The Kiss Heard 'Round the World**

When we arrive in the dining car, we find Haymitch already sitting at the table. I'm surprised he even bothered to show up, especially since he doesn't seem to actually be eating any of the food set out in front of him. Gale takes the seat across the table from Haymitch and I sit down beside him, leaving Effie to sit beside Haymitch. She subtly tries to shift her chair to put as much distance between them as possible, and I can't really blame her - even from where I'm sitting the alcohol fumes that seem to be seeping directly out of his pores are nearly overwhelming.

As soon as we are seated, servants arrive to place bowls of a thick carrot soup in front of each of us. It smells incredible - much better than the watery soups we are able to make in the Seam.

The thought immediately turns my stomach - enjoying any of the luxuries that the Capitol will shower us with until we enter the Arena feels like a betrayal of my family, of everyone in District 12, of everyone in _all _the districts who have struggled to keep enough food on their tables or starved to death trying.

I am no longer hungry, but I definitely need to eat as much as I can between now and the start of the Games. Not knowing what or how much we'll have to eat in the Arena means I should try to put on a few pounds before going in. So I reluctantly pick up my spoon and begin eating. It tastes delicious. I hate it even more on principle. Gale has been eyeing his bowl with the same distaste that I feel, but follows my lead.

Effie, having started before we did, finishes her bowl when we are only halfway through ours. She watches us for a moment, then remarks, "At least you two have decent manners. The pair last year ate everything with their hands. Can you imagine that? It was all I could do to finish my meals with them around." Her voice is dripping with disdain.

Gale and I pause, spoons halfway to our mouths, and look at each other. The tributes last year were both from the community house, just 14 and 15 years old. The community house provides only the barest minimum of food to its residents, and it's well-known that the stronger kids there frequently steal the rations of the weaker ones. Last year's tributes were not among the stronger kids. Most days they were probably lucky if they got to eat even a single meal. Table manners were not something they would ever have had need of. But of course it's too much too expect that Effie Trinket, with all of her Capitol largesse, would have any sympathy for that kind of life.

Simultaneously we place our spoons on the table and lift our bowls to our mouths. We drink the rest of the soup straight from the bowl, slurping loudly. Gale even licks his bowl clean when we finish. Effie once again looks appalled by us, but at least she no longer appears surprised. I catch Haymitch watching us, an appraising look in his eyes, which are far more clear than I would have expected. I have a sneaking suspicion that at least some of his drunkenness today has been an act - a cover from under which he could observe and assess the events unfolding without being expected to actually participate in them.

We make a point to eat the rest of the meal with our hands, as sloppily as possible, no matter what comes out - things get particularly messy with the salad and the mashed potatoes. When we finish, we make a big show of wiping our hands and mouths on the table cloth. Effie is unable to suppress a noise of disgust, and I notice Haymitch smiling into the flask he's been drinking from steadily throughout dinner. If he had been exaggerating his level drunkenness before, he certainly isn't anymore. He lurches up unsteadily from the table, nearly knocking it over, before stumbling slowly towards the hallway leading to the sleeping cabins.

"Where are you going?" Effie demands.

"To take a nap," he slurs back, not stopping to look at her.

"Now?" she hisses, and I am somewhat gratified to see that she definitely looks more frustrated with him that she ever has with us. So far, anyways. "The Reaping Day recap will be starting soon. You need to watch it." All the reapings are broadcast live, with their timing staggered throughout the day so that hypothetically you could watch them all as they happen. But only people in the Capitol are actually able to do that, since everyone else is required to attend their district's reaping. So they air a recap a few hours after District 12's, to let people see what happened in the other districts.

Haymitch shrugs, tossing us a sarcastic thumbs up, says "I'm sure you guys got it covered," and wanders off.

Now Gale and I look just as angry as Effie does. Haymitch is our mentor, the only one we have. He's supposed to advise us, use his experience to teach us what to expect in the Arena. He is the only one that can get us sponsors when we're in the Arena and get their gifts to us. And he is supposed to come up with the strategy that we will use to help stay alive during the Games and to help win those sponsors. And while I don't exactly have any personal experience here, I think it's pretty safe to assume that he should know who we will be up against when developing that strategy. Assuming he even plans to do something to help us, which from what we've seen so far, is less than certain.

"I'll deal with him tomorrow," Effie tells us in what she must think is a reassuring voice.

"Thanks," I mutter, but Gale remains steely-eyed. I'm pretty sure he has an even lower opinion of Haymitch than I do, and will likely resist receiving any help from him, even if Haymitch does decide to offer it. I take his hand in mine, stroking his palm gently and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

"Well, let's go watch the recap," Effie says, rising from the table.

We follow her to an adjoining room with a large television and two couches set in front of it, perpendicular to each other. Gale leads me by our joined hands to the couch further from the entrance, settling against the armrest nearest the wall. I sit beside him, leaving no space between us. He places our clasped hands in his lap and I wrap my other hand around his arm, laying my head on his shoulder. I pull my legs up, resting my knees lightly against his left thigh, and he begins tracing soft circles on them with his free hand. He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to my hairline.

I glance over at Effie, sitting on the other couch. She is regarding us carefully, no longer with disapproval, but instead an odd mixture of fascination, cunning, and, to my immense surprise, just a hint of pity. She snaps her eyes over to the television as soon as she notices my gaze on her. I wonder for the first time what she really thinks of everything that has happened today, and whether it's possible that some of her apparent displeasure with us stems from understanding how much harder our romantic relationship, absolutely unheard of among tributes, will make the Games for us. If maybe some part of her actually finds this situation unfair. I realize that if others in the Capitol feel that way, it should make us popular with the sponsors. But I can't help but worry what trouble might be stirred up in the districts by witnessing our plight, if it is indeed capable of rousing the sympathies of even the Capitol population.

I don't have time to think about the subject any further because the television suddenly flares to life, the seal of the Capitol filling the screen while anthem of Panem plays. Then the recap begins, narrated by Caesar Flickerman, the long-time official commentator of the Hunger Games. Gale and I both sit up a little straighter to pay attention. We watch carefully as each name is called, and a few occasions when a volunteer steps forward to take their place, sizing up each tribute to identify those that will give us the most trouble.

Up first are two volunteers from District 1, a girl who appears to be about 16 and boy who I guess is around our age, both with platinum blonde hair. They do not volunteer out of love for the reaped tributes as I did, but because they are Careers. Some of the richer districts select children to train from a young age in combat and survival skills, in preparation for the Games. When they are the right age, they volunteer as tribute. Technically this is against the rules, but the Capitol does nothing to stop it, as it tends to make for a more interesting show. Their advantage means that Victors are almost always Career tributes. These two don't appear to be any particular threat, but because they are Careers I know they can't be discounted. We'll have to keep an eye on them during the pre-game training to see if they have any special skills we need to be wary of.

The volunteers from 2, also a Career district, are another matter entirely. They both appear to be 18. The girl has easily 50 pounds on me, and the boy is built like an ox. Both have a vicious glint in their eyes that makes me shiver. They will enjoy killing. Gale squeezes my hand reassuringly, but when I look at him I see that his face is grim. Those two are definitely going to be a problem.

I dismiss both tributes from District 3. District 4 is the other Career district, which warrants further examination, but as with 1, nothing makes me especially concerned about either of them. Something about the girl from District 5 tells me she will be tough to beat. She isn't very large, but her face has a sly, fox-like quality and there is a calculating gleam in her eye. She probably isn't very strong, but she is clearly intelligent and I am immediately wary of her. Nothing stands out about the tributes from Districts 6, 7, 8 or 9. The boy from 10 walks to the stage with an obvious limp, his foot apparently crippled, and I feel a rush of pity for him. He won't last long.

When the girl tribute from District 11 is called, I gasp. She is tiny, clearly only 12 years old. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but otherwise her resemblance to Prim is striking. She has the same innocence, the same delicate features, the same gentle air about her. She reaches the stage and when their escort asks for a volunteer, the crowd is silent. Gale senses my distress and releases my hand to wrap his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I feel tears prick my eyes at the horror and unfairness of it all. It's foolish, but I resolve to do whatever I can protect this little girl in the Arena. I look up at Gale and he nods sadly in agreement, having read my intent from my eyes.

The boy from 11 is being called now. He will be another one to watch out for. He's at least as big as the boy from 2, if not larger. His eyes burn with a fierce hostility. While I don't think he will take pleasure in the violence the same way that the District 2 Careers will, I can tell he won't shy away from it either.

Up last is District 12, and I huddle closer to Gale, turning my face into his shoulder. I have no desire to see this. It was awful enough living through it. But I force myself to keep one eye on the television, so that I know how it all appeared to everyone else watching. Prim's name is called and I see myself rushing forward to volunteer. I discover that the commotion I had caught on the boys' side out of the corner of my eye before I spoke up was Gale rushing towards the aisle. _Trying to intercept me before I could speak up_, I realize.

I turn to him in shock, momentarily livid that he would have stopped me, that he would have let Prim be reaped if he could have. But it's clear as soon as I look at him that he feels horribly ashamed and my anger fades as quickly as it flared up. "I'm sorry," he blurts out before I can speak, voice full of remorse. "I just … as soon as I heard Prim's name, I knew what you would do, and I just couldn't stand the thought of losing you. I was moving before I even knew what I was doing. You know that I would never want…," he pauses, flicking his gaze nervously to Effie, who is doing a truly terrible job of pretending not to be listening to us. He tries again, "You know that I understand that you could never do anything other than what you did." But what he clearly means is, '_You know I would never want Prim to be put through this nightmare.'_

I do know that. And I can't say that I don't understand how he felt - it was exactly how I felt when his name was called. Only there was never anything I could have done to stop him from being reaped. If it had been Rory's name that was called and Gale had stepped forward to volunteer for him, I don't doubt that I would have flown off the stage, to tackle him to the ground and hold his mouth shut using any means necessary, to keep him safe. I can't be mad at him for something I would have done myself, and I don't want to be.

"It's okay. I understand," I whisper softly, pulling him down for quick kiss. He studies me for a long moment before accepting that I am truly not mad at him. He leans back down to me, kissing me softly.

"I love you," he murmurs against my mouth and I hum my agreement.

The sound of Haymitch toppling off the stage pulls our attention back to the TV screen. I glance briefly at Effie to see that, although she is still pretending to be paying no attention to us, her face has turned as pink as her hair. With her bright pink suit, she looks like a flamingo and I snicker quietly.

Gale's name is called and I can plainly see the sheer devastation my face when it is. It hurts so much just watching it that once again I can barely breathe. I feel a rush of gratitude when I see how he tried to protect me from the cameras when he made it on stage, angling us away from them while I pulled myself together. The people of District 12 raise their hands in salute, and I am filled again with pride and trepidation. I can see now how truly rebellious the gesture will appear to the Capitol, a clear signal of the deep resentment that lies beneath our obedient veneer. It is also impossible to miss the spark of defiance that lights up the crowd when we kiss. I'm surprised they actually showed it, but I suppose it would have been in the live broadcast and it would look suspicious if they edited it out for this. The recap does not show what happened after we were dragged inside, but I feel absolutely certain that we have started something big, something much larger than ourselves, with that action. _Something dangerous. _

The thought makes me uneasy. Looking at Gale, I can see that he senses it too. He is wearing the same look he gets in the woods when he's railing against the Capitol and wishing for an uprising, only now there is something else in his expression - anticipation. I feel queasy, the large meal sitting unpleasantly in my stomach as I grow increasingly unsettled by what I've witnessed.

Whatever we have ignited will only grow as the Games play out. And I'm sure that the Games have just become that much more dangerous for us because of it.

I find myself actually wishing that Haymitch had been here to see this. If we are not careful with how we present ourselves, if we appear too treasonous, we risk bringing the wrath of the Capitol down on our families as punishment for our actions. Our lives are already forfeit, but our families should not suffer because we started something we never meant to. As much as I dislike Haymitch, he is the only one that can help us navigate the perilous waters we have entered.

My father once told me an old saying, from long before the days of Panem, when religion was not yet forbidden: "_Speak of the devil and he appears_." When Haymitch suddenly stumbles into the room, asks what he missed, vomits all over the floor and falls face-first into the puddle, I finally understand just what that phrase means.


	8. Rolling in the Deep

**A/N: **Oh man, you guys. I am super nervous about this chapter. I could ramble on for a good long while about why, but let's just say that I really, really hope it works. If you only review one chapter in this whole story, please let it be this one, because I really want to know what people think.

Thank you again to everyone who's reviewed so far - I'm seriously overwhelmed by the amazing response to this story. You guys rock!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. 'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins and her publishers. Chapter title and lyrics come from Adele's "Rolling in the Deep."

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**Chapter 7 - Rolling in the Deep**

_~ There's a fire starting in my heart  
Reaching a fever pitch, it's bringing me out the dark  
Finally I can see you crystal clear  
Go ahead and sell me out and I'll lay your shit bare  
See how I leave with every piece of you  
Don't underestimate the things that I will do  
There's a fire starting in my heart  
Reaching a fever pitch  
And it's bringing me out the dark ~_

Effie shrieks in revulsion and flees the room as Haymitch hits the floor. The smell is atrocious and I nearly gag. It's one of the most disgusting things I've ever seen, and that includes the time we came across a mangled, rotting deer carcass being picked over by vultures in the woods.

When a few moments pass without Haymitch moving, Gale reluctantly gets up and walks over to him, being sure to stay clear of the pile of vomit. He nudges Haymitch's leg with his foot. Haymitch groans quietly, so we know he is not dead, but since he doesn't react otherwise it's safe to assume he is thoroughly unconscious.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Gale grumbles, sending an irritated look in the direction that Effie fled, leaving us to deal with this mess.

I rise from the couch and head over to stand beside Gale. "Come on," I sigh, "let's get him to his room."

He looks at me as if I just suggested dancing naked through the town square. "Why?" he asks incredulously. "Let's just leave him here. This isn't our problem."

"No, but it will be tomorrow, when he's sure to be even more uncooperative. How helpful do you think he's going to be after waking up on the floor, crusted with vomit?" I try to reason with him, though I realize immediately that it was the wrong tack to take.

"We don't need his help," Gale spits. "We can handle the Games by ourselves. We're strong, we're fast, we can hunt…"

"Animals!" I yelp. "We hunt animals, not people."

He shrugs, saying callously, "How different can it be?" I gape at him, absolutely appalled. To his credit, he looks immediately regretful but it doesn't make me feel much better.

"It's different," I snap. "Besides, we don't know what it's like to actually be inside the Arena, he does. We can't arrange our own sponsors, he can."

"We don't need sponsors, or their 'gifts'" Gale interrupts, unwilling to back down.

"Yes we do," I argue emphatically. "And we need his advice for our strategy, not just for the Games, but for everything before then - training, our private sessions, the interviews."

"What advice could he possibly give us that would be any help?" he demands, almost more baffled now than angry at my defense of Haymitch.

"The kind we really, really need," I insist, my voice suddenly low and deadly serious. Something in my tone gives Gale pause because he doesn't argue back. I don't dare say any more than that - the train is probably bugged and it is too risky. He is studying me carefully and I try to communicate with my eyes alone my fear that it is more than just our lives at risk with whatever it is that we started through our actions at the reaping; that we have a very fine line to walk over the next few days if we do not want our loved ones to suffer the consequences. I'm pretty sure I'm doing a terrible job of it since Gale mostly still looks confused. But then something happening on the television catches my attention, and I realize I may not have to come up with a way to explain my reaction after all. Gale notices that my focus is no longer on him, and turns to see what's going on.

At the end of the reaping recap, Caesar Flickerman always does a commentary segment. Then he usually brings on a guest to discuss the events of the day - typically one of the current or former Gamemakers, or a past Victor who is not serving as a mentor that year. It is this year's guest that attracts our notice, specifically because this one is so unusual - Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem.

His image on the screen fills me with dread, even though Snow looks for all intents and purposes like your average kindly old grandfather. His white hair and lightly wrinkled features make an odd contrast to Caesar's bright blue hair and artificially youthful appearance. But President Snow rarely makes a personal appearance in the pre-Games coverage, other than to welcome the tributes to the Capitol during the opening ceremonies parade. No, only something very important could have dragged him from his mansion in the heart of the Capitol to appear with Caesar tonight. And I would bet my life that we are that something.

They engage in studiously casual conversation for a few minutes, talking about the long history of the Hunger Games, the buzz in the Capitol, what the Gamemakers might have planned for this year (though of course they do not mention anything specific). Then talk turns to a general assessment of the field of tributes this year, and some discussion of the strength of the tributes from Districts 1 and 2, always big favourites of the Capitol. And then, finally, Caesar broaches the topic that is the real reason for Snow's presence.

"So, let's talk about District 12," Caesar begins, and Snow pretends to laugh lightly, as though he knew he would be asked about this but doesn't really see what the all the fuss is about. Even though he wouldn't be there if he didn't actually consider it a very serious matter. "Some pretty interesting stuff happening there today, wouldn't you agree?"

"Well, you know, of course it's always thrilling when we have volunteers, and I do believe the young woman who stepped forward to take her sister's place is the first we have ever had from District 12. So that is certainly an historic occasion worth celebrating," Snow replies, his tone a practised mixture of pride and indifference.

"Indeed. She seems to have a relationship with the boy as well. Our sources in the district indicate that they have been romantically involved for some time," Caesar continues like he is sharing an interesting tidbit of gossip, but really it is a deft reminder that nothing escapes the Capitol's notice.

"I believe we all got to see that for ourselves," Snow says with false amusement, and they both chuckle. So this is the purpose of his appearance tonight. To diminish the meaning of our actions, to define them as the Capitol sees fit. I wonder if Snow's façade seems as transparent to others as it does to me. Maybe not, if you weren't expecting it to be. He certainly wouldn't be here if he didn't think the majority of the population would find him believable.

"What do you make of the crowd's response?" Caesar asks, keeping his tone light.

"Of course it is always a source of deep pride for the citizens of a district when someone volunteers as tribute. There is no greater service, and no greater sign of respect, that one can offer our great nation than participating in the Hunger Games. The honour the people of District 12 must have felt at that time would have been very profound indeed." My blood boils at his lies, and Gale's outrage is plainly written on his face.

"Absolutely," Caesar agrees. "So what impact do you think this will have in the Arena?"

Snow turns slightly, to face the camera directly. Now my blood turns to ice in my veins, as I feel as though his snake eyes are staring straight through to my soul. "I have no doubt that, much like all of our tributes, they will serve their district, and indeed, all of Panem, with the utmost dedication, and bring great honour to their families with their sacrifice." I hear the threat behind his words and from the way Gale tenses beside me, I can tell he does too. "And who knows, perhaps one of them has what it takes to emerge as Victor." A subtle reminder that only one us can survive, and the hint that we may turn on each other, meant to undermine our bond or at least the public's perception of it. He smiles, but I see nothing but malice in his eyes, "Regardless, I am certain that the 74th Hunger Games will be among the most exciting we have ever seen."

Caesar thanks him for being there, and begins to wrap up the broadcast. Gale angrily turns off the TV and faces me. It's plain from his expression that he understands now why I think we will need Haymitch's help. I'm fairly certain that in his earlier excitement at the possibility of some sort of movement for change finally rising among the districts, he forgot the extent of the dangers that would come with that, and the risks to our families in particular just for being close to us, the source of all the trouble. Snow's presence on the television served as a stark reminder of the seriousness of the situation.

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it quickly, glancing around the room in frustration. Remembering that the train is almost certainly bugged. He looks back at me, and for the third time today, I whisper, "Later." There really is so much we need to talk about, but we can't do it here - that's more obvious than ever after what we just saw. I hope we'll have a chance to speak openly at some point in the Capitol, but I can't be certain of that either.

"I'm really starting to hate that word," he grumbles, running one hand through his hair and rubbing his face with the other in aggravation.

"Me too," I mutter, looking at the floor. A powerful wave of exhaustion washes over me. Was it really only this morning that Gale and I were in the woods, hunting, teasing each other, making love, talking about running away? Why, why did I not agree to run away when we had the chance? But of course, if we had, Prim would be on this train instead of me, with some poor boy who would have been reaped instead of Gale; Gale's family would probably be being tortured at the hands of the Capitol to learn our whereabouts; an army of Peacekeepers would undoubtedly be hot on our trail, hunting us down to kill us like animals and make an example of us to anyone who would dare to defy the Capitol as we had. No, running away would only have made things worse for everyone, if only marginally so. How can it be possible for so much to go so horribly wrong in just one day?

Gale pulls me against him and I wind my arms tightly around his waist, taking comfort in his strength. "Come on," he says after a moment, pulling back slightly and nodding in Haymitch's direction, "let's get our illustrious mentor cleaned up and put to bed. I can't stand that smell any longer."

Haymitch is still passed out cold, which isn't going to make this easy. Eventually we settle on rolling him over onto his back, being sure to keep his clean side clear of the vomit puddle. Gale hooks his arms under Haymitch's shoulders from behind him, doing his best to avoid the mess on the front of his shirt, and I pick up his legs just below the knees. His deadweight is extremely heavy, but luckily we don't have to go far - his room is the first in the sleeping quarter area, separated from the dining room only by the train's bar. "Of course," I mutter with a roll of my eyes as we reach his door, the bar still in sight behind me, earning an amused snort from Gale.

I let Haymitch's legs drop to the floor and go around Gale to push the bedroom door open. Gale drags him through the room over to the bathroom. I take hold of his legs again and together we hoist him into the shower, propping his head up against the low tile ledge that rings the shower area. By this point I am completely amazed that he hasn't woken once during the less-than-smooth trip from the television room, stunned that anyone could drink that much and still be breathing.

Gale examines the shower controls carefully, trying to find the right ones - Haymitch won't be much more helpful if he wakes up covered in pink goo and smelling like a flower garden than he would be if we had just left him on the floor. Finally he seems to figure out which one will create a stream of warm water from one of the detachable showerheads and presses it, pulling the showerhead over to Haymitch. He rinses Haymitch's face and scraggly blond hair first, before tackling the mess on his shirt.

Haymitch starts to slide down the ledge a bit and I move behind him to hold his head in place. I grimace when I realize that I am directly in the line of fire if he wakes up puking, and lean back as far as I can, hoping to stay out of the spray zone should that happen.

Gale catches my expression and grins a little, "You wanna do my job instead?" he asks, gesturing with the showerhead. If Haymitch does start vomiting again, Gale will definitely be taking the brunt of it.

"Not a chance," I shoot back dryly.

"Didn't think so," he smirks. Then his features soften, "I can take care of this, if you want to get to bed. I won't be long."

I shake my head. "'Whatever happens, we're in it together,' remember?" I say, reminding him of the promise we made on the ride to the train station. Besides, I don't want to be alone tonight, and I'm worried that some Capitol lackey will lock him out of my room if we split up.

He smiles, "I think this could be considered going above and beyond the call of duty."

I shrug, "Well at least some of the stuff in the Arena might not seem so bad after this." We both crack-up at this, the stress of the day and our level of exhaustion making us slightly giddy.

Our laughter increases when we hear Haymitch mumble angrily, "I can hear you bastards, you know."

"So what?" Gale replies. "Not like you're going to remember any of this in the morning anyway." Haymitch doesn't respond and when we look at his face, we see that he has already passed out again, causing a fresh round of irrational giggling.

Finally Gale gets Haymitch's shirt as clean as possible. We decide that Gale will get him out of his outer clothes (hopefully he's actually wearing some sort of underwear because naked Haymitch is definitely where I draw the line in my willingness to help), I'll spread some towels on his bed and we'll put him there for the night. When I re-enter the bathroom, I'm very relieved to find that Haymitch does indeed have an undershirt and boxers on. We drag him to the bed and toss him unceremoniously face-down onto the pile of towels. After a moment of consideration, I throw some more towels over top of him to keep him from catching cold in the night. I figure a bitter, boozed-up mentor is still preferable to a bitter, boozed-up mentor with pneumonia.

Gale and I make our way back to my room in silence. The train makes remarkably little noise given that it is travelling at more than 250 miles per hour. With everyone else in bed, the complete absence of sound is almost as oppressive as the train's heavy, dark décor. The last of our earlier levity disappears completely as we walk the halls.

I open my door and head inside. Gale follows me, shutting the door quietly behind him. There is no need to discuss whether he will be staying here tonight. We strip down to our underwear and he slips under the covers of the massive bed to lie on his back. I slide in after him, curling up against his side, resting my head in the spot where his shoulder meets the firm muscle of his chest. He tucks the covers lightly around us before wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

We don't speak for a long time. I had thought I was so exhausted that I would fall asleep immediately, but now that we are alone, in the darkness, I find that I cannot get my brain to quiet down. I shy away from the more painful thoughts, my instinctive need for emotional self-preservation pushing them to the back of my mind. My mind wanders randomly, and I'm almost as surprised as Gale is when I blurt out, apropos of nothing, "How do they pick the Career tributes?"

"They volunteer," he says slowly, confused as to why I'd ask such a stupid question.

"No, no I know, but I mean…," I pause, trying to organize my thoughts. "I mean not all kids born in the Career districts get the training. So how do they decide who is going to be trained? How do they decide who gets signed up to die before they can even walk, and who will be guaranteed a life of safety?" I've never really thought about this before, but now that I have it occurs to me how horribly unfair that is.

"I don't know," he answers after a long moment. "Does it matter?"

"Well doesn't it seem sort of awful? I mean, everyone in the other districts has to grow up with the possibility of being reaped someday, but that also means that everyone has the possibility of never being reaped too. But the children selected to be trained as Careers will all end up in the Arena eventually. And nearly all of them will die. How can they decide when someone is just a baby whether they're destined to live or die? At least we have a chance."

"None of us has a chance, Katniss," he sighs wearily. "Everyone is going to die, sooner or later."

"But not like that," I argue, even though I don't really understand why I'm pushing this.

"We're going to die like that," he says harshly, shocking me into silence. "Why does it matter exactly how anyone came to be here?"

He must feel me tense beside him, because he sighs again, remorsefully this time, and rolls onto his side to face me. He strokes my hair softly, brushing it away from my face, and whispers, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

I shake my head, meeting his eyes. "It's fine. You're right." My voice is so hollow I barely recognize it. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters. We all have to go into the Arena. If we're lucky we'll just starve to death or freeze to death in the night or die of dehydration in some scorching desert or be torn apart by some mutts of the Capitol. And if we survive all that, we get to inflict all sorts of terrible violence on each other, becoming ruthless killers. And it won't matter how old, or young, or strong, or weak, or innocent, or vicious you are, whether you were reaped or volunteered, a regular or a Career. In the end we'll kill each other, one by one, just like they want us to. No point feeling bad about it, right?" I've been getting more upset as I speak, and by the time I'm done my voice has taken on a distinctly hysterical tone.

Gale is looking at me worriedly. "Catnip…" he starts in a soothing voice, but doesn't continue, clearly at a loss for words after my little outburst.

There has been too much emotion today and I can feel it like a physical force inside my body, growing larger, trying to claw its way out of my skin. Tears are burning in my eyes, and part of me desperately wants to let them loose, to scream and sob and wail until my throat is raw and my eyes are swollen and there is nothing, nothing left in me to feel. But I'm afraid if I start crying now, I'll never stop. I'll cry for the rest of the ride to the Capitol. I'll cry through the tribute parade. I'll cry through training, and presentations, and interviews. I'll cry when I emerge into the Arena. I'll cry when the gong sounds, signalling the start of the Games. I'll cry when the other tributes rush at me, ready to pick off the stupid sobbing girl, the easiest possible target. I'll cry when Gale dies trying in vain to protect me as I sit there uselessly. I'll cry right up until the moment that someone slits my throat and finally, finally puts me out of my misery.

I can't let myself start crying. But I have to do something. So I do the only other thing I want to do right now, and launch myself at Gale, kissing him with all the pent up emotion I am feeling, moulding my body against his.

He kisses me back with equal intensity and I fist my hands in his hair, holding him to me. His right hand slides down to grab my bottom, pressing me even more tightly against him. I throw my leg over his hips and moan into his mouth when he grinds against me, rubbing against my most sensitive places.

I am bewildered when he breaks our kiss a moment later. Both of us are breathing heavily, and I don't understand why he's stopping when we both need this so badly and I think I might just die here if he does. "Katniss," he groans, sounding pained, "maybe we shouldn't … someone could be listening."

The bugs. Is that it? "I don't care," I whisper vehemently, pulling him back to me. He doesn't resist. And I truly don't care if someone is listening. What difference does it make? Not that I want anyone else spying on us when we're engaged in such an intimate act. But in less than a week, every moment of our lives will be on display for the world to see. They will watch us sleep, catch us nude if we wash our clothes, see us take care of normally private bodily functions. They will watch us starve and suffer. They will see us bleeding and bruised and in agonizing pain. They will watch us kill and they will watch us die. And they will call it entertainment.

So I don't care if someone in the Capitol is sitting at a monitor, listening to us make love. Maybe they'll hear it and understand, if only for a moment, that we are human beings too, people who feel and desire and love. That we are more than just animated meat puppets to be used in the Capitol's games. Let them listen. Let them hear, let them know, how beautifully, vibrantly, completely alive we were before they murdered us.

Gale either feels the same or decides he'd be an idiot to turn me down now or can't stop anymore than I can (probably all three), because he unhooks the simple black bra I am wearing and tosses it aside, caressing my exposed breasts. I use the leverage from my leg still hooked around his waist to roll us so that he is beneath me. I grind my hips hard into his and am rewarded with a low strangled moan that might have been my name coming from lips. This will not be like the woods this morning, slow and playful and full of soft caresses and gentle teasing. We need each other too much, our passion fuelled by all of the pain and heartache we've been subjected to since then.

I scrape my nails lightly down his chest and he hisses in pleasure/pain. He reaches both hands down to the waistband of my underwear, gripping hard, and rips them clean off me. I shove his boxers down far enough to free his erection, and then I am sliding onto him, finally feeling perfectly, achingly full. It is enough to take the edge off my blind need, and I spend a moment just looking at him, staring in wonder at the impossibly beautiful face of this man I love so much.

Gale reaches a hand up, brushing his thumb lightly across my lips before cupping my head to lower my mouth back to his for a deep, long kiss. I rise again and brace my hands on his chest, and begin to move, slowly at first then faster, as the need builds again. Gale thrusts up into me and I throw my head back in ecstasy. One of his hands grips my right hip, while he moves his other to circle my clit with thumb, causing me to cry out as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear.

I am close, so close, when my eyes meet his again, and he growls, "Come for me Katniss." So I do, screaming his name so loudly I'm sure I must have woken the entire train. If I haven't, the way he roars my name when he reaches his own release a split-second later surely must have.

I collapse on top of him, utterly spent. He strokes my back gently, pressing soft kisses into my hair, and I purr contentedly. When our bodies begin too cool, he pulls the covers back over us before wrapping his arms securely around me, holding me tightly in place on top of him. I hear him mumble, "I love you, Catnip," and I think I say it back, but I can't be sure because I finally slide into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

_A/N: Soooo, erm, everyone still with me? Hit 'Review' and let me know!_


	9. You Say You Want a Revolution

**A/N: **You guys are seriously the BEST. Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed the last chapter, it means so much to me and I'm so relieved that it turned out okay lol. As a gesture of gratitude, here's the next chapter, no waiting! I hope you like it :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. 'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins and her publishers. Chapter title comes from The Beatles' "Revolution."

* * *

**Chapter 8 - You Say You Want a** **Revolution**

I wake slowly, reluctant to leave the pleasant haze of sleep behind. I am more comfortable than I have ever been in my life. The first thing I become aware of is Gale, his steady heartbeat beneath my ear and strong arms holding me gently, filling me with a deep sense of peace. The soft blankets around us create a warm cocoon, protecting us from the outside world. I have never felt so safe.

I realize how ironic that is given that I have never been in more danger than I am now. That thought is what finally rouses me fully. I can see the light peeking through the narrow slit between the drapes, and know that it will not be long before we have to face the world again. Every minute brings us closer to the Capitol and all the horrors that await us there. But we are not there yet, so I try to savour this moment for as long as possible, knowing it is likely one of the last few happy ones I will ever have.

"Morning," Gale mumbles sleepily, stirring beneath me.

"Morning," I whisper back, raising myself up to brush a soft kiss against his lips. We gaze stupidly into each others' eyes for a minute.

Gale runs his fingers through the strands of hair that have come loose from my braid in the night and I hum contentedly. He shifts us so that I am on my back while he hovers over me, tracing my features gently with his fingertips. I sigh happily and he leans down, our mouths meeting in a long, lingering kiss.

"I could get used to this," he smiles when we finally pull apart. Then his expression darkens, and I'm sure mine does too, as the reality of our situation comes crashing back down on us. We will never have the chance to get to used to this. We will never have the chance to do a great many things.

But I am still determined to hold onto whatever brief moments of happiness we have left, so I pull him back to me, pressing our bodies firmly together and kissing him deeply. Yes, we are on a train, that in a few short hours will arrive in the Capitol, where we will be subjected to any number of indignities. And in a few days, we will be tossed into the Arena, to engage in a futile battle for our lives, which we cannot hope to survive. But here, now, in this bed and each others' arms, it is surprisingly easy to pretend that none of those things exist.

It becomes decidedly more difficult to pretend a couple moments later when my door flies open and Effie Trinket is bustling into my room, chirping brightly, "Rise and shine dear! It's almost time for breakf-aaarfhgl…" The rest of the word is lost in an incomprehesible squeaking sound of surprise. Evidently, she had not been expecting to find Gale here, in my bed, having clearly spent the night, both of us quite obviously naked. Personally, I think that after the scene she discovered in the car when we arrived at the station yesterday, she should have seen this coming.

Effie stands there mutely for a minute, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. I can feel my face burning with embarrassment, but I refuse to duck my head as if I have something to be ashamed of. But I can't bring myself to speak either, tempted as I am to shriek at her to leave us the hell alone.

It is Gale who finally breaks the silence, his voice dripping with false cheer and barely concealed irritation. "Morning Effie. Sleep well?" I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

This seems to snap her out of her shock and her eyes narrow. "Breakfast starts in half an hour. Do not be late, and do NOT make me come back here to get you." She spins on her heel and storms out of the room, muttering about "scandalous behaviour" and "complete lack of civilization" before the slamming the door behind her.

"Well that should do it," I mutter when she's gone, mostly to myself. At Gale's confused look, I clarify, "Yesterday I wondered how long it would take her to learn to knock before barging in on us. I think this ought to have taken care of that little problem."

He snorts, "Let's hope so," and leans back down, intent on continuing where we left off. But I place my hand on his chest and push him back gently, not because I want to, but because I know there will be hell to pay if Effie has to come back here. We have enough to worry about as it is, without adding an angry Effie Trinket to the list.

"Sorry," I say apologetically, kissing him quickly before hopping out of the bed, away from his reach. He pouts at me, looking deliciously rumpled with his hair mussed from the pillows, staring hungrily at my naked from, and I almost cave, but manage to stay strong. "You know we need her on our side." His face twists with displeasure, but he doesn't argue. "Come on, we both need to shower and get dressed."

Gale sighs unhappily but slides out of the bed, walking to where his pants are lying discarded on the floor and bending to retrieve them. I stop him with a hand on his bicep and he looks up at me curiously. "I thought you said we need to shower," he asks, raising one eyebrow at me as he straightens his back.

"We do." I shrug coyly, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. "But I didn't say we had to shower separately." He grins widely as understanding dawns on him. Then he swoops down, picking me up around my waist and tossing me over his shoulder, making me squeal with laughter as he carries me into the bathroom.

* * *

We end up being only 15 minutes late for breakfast. Since Effie never did return to my room, I decide this is close enough to being on time. We show up dressed in the same clothes we wore to dinner yesterday. Somehow we managed to keep them clear of Haymitch's mess when we were carrying him last night, and trying to find something else half-decent in the little chest of horrors that is the dresser in my room would only have made us later.

When we arrive, Effie and Haymitch are both there already, sitting beside each other and speaking quietly but intensely. _That can't be good. _They stop talking when they notice us. Effie frowns slightly in disapproval, but there is a clear trace of worry in her eyes that gives me pause. Haymitch smirks at us, and I assume she's filled him in on our … activities. _Lovely._

The food is set out on a long table against the wall behind Haymitch and Effie, with a stack of plates on one end. Apparently breakfast is a serve-yourself affair. Gale and I head in that direction, piling our plates high with bacon, sausage, eggs, pastries, and fruit. As we do so, a servant appears to set several mugs and glasses at each of our places at the table. When we sit down, I peer at them curiously, trying to identify their contents. One of the glasses has water, the other two some kinds of juice. There are two mugs, both containing dark liquids. I recognize one of them as coffee, which I have never cared for - it makes me too jittery. The other is unfamiliar, but smells delicious.

"It's hot chocolate," Effie tells me, her voice far less condescending than I had expected after the "ate-with-their-hands" debacle at dinner last night. I guess we made our point.

I lift the mug and take a sip. It is possibly the best thing I have ever tasted, and I moan softly in appreciation, forgetting briefly about my determination to not enjoy any of the luxuries of the Capitol and drinking the rest eagerly. Gale raises an eyebrow at my reaction, then tries his own mug. He makes a face and sets it down next to my plate. "Too sweet," he mumbles by way of explanation. I pass him my mug of coffee, and he shoots me a grateful look. We get coffee in District 12 from time to time, but it is definitely something of a luxury item. It's also one of Gale's favourites, and whenever some would come into the Hob we would try to catch some extra game so he'd be able to trade for it.

I realize that Effie and Haymitch have been watching our mostly silent exchange, both looking like they are trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. They share an inscrutable look, and then Effie rises gracefully from her chair. "I have some things that I need to go take care of. Today is a big, big, big day after all," she says in her chipper Capitol accent. "I'll give you three some time to talk," her voice more serious now, though her cheerful expression never wavers. She walks swiftly from the dining room, leaving Gale and I alone with Haymitch.

I study Haymitch, trying to assess how drunk he is at the moment and whether there is a chance of having anything resembling a productive conversation with him. Although he is drinking from a glass that he's been filling from a bottle of the powerful white liquor that I know he favours from seeing him around the Hob, he seems reasonably sober, his eyes clear and his gaze steady.

The silence in the room is heavy and beginning to make me uncomfortable. I glance at Gale, who is again sitting across from Haymitch, and realize from the scowl he is directing at him that although he may have come around somewhat to the idea that we need Haymitch's help, he will not be the one to open the discussion.

I sigh internally, but decide to just get right into it, asking, "So what advice can you give us?"

Haymitch eyes me for a second, then snorts and spreads his arms widely, glass of alcohol clutched in his left hand. "You want my advice? Here it is: Stay. Alive." He turns back to his glass, indicating that that is all he is going to offer.

Gale moves so fast I can barely follow it as he grabs a knife off the table and flings it violently towards the glass Haymitch is holding, shattering it instantly. Haymitch looks briefly shocked, then livid, then he laughs and hurls the stem of the broken glass to the ground. He reaches with his right hand to where the bottle is resting in the middle of the table, but I grab my own knife, ramming the point into the table between his extended fingers, deliberately missing his skin but only just barely. The knife stays upright, buried almost halfway to the hilt. I'm pretty sure we have his attention now.

Haymitch leans back into his seat, the bottle momentarily forgotten as he regards us appraisingly. "Well what do you know," he drawls at last. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

"Are you going to help us or not?" I snap. Gale remains silent, his expression stony.

"Well that depends, sweetheart," he begins snidely, "on whether you and loverboy here can convince me that you two can actually do something besides each other."

I see red. In a split-second I am yanking the knife out of the table and throwing it in the direction of his head, not intending to hit him but close enough to make it clear that I could if I wanted to. The knife embeds itself in the opposite wall, sticking perfectly in the seam between two pieces of panelling. At the same time, Gale flies out of his chair, circling the table and knocking Haymitch over backwards, chair and all, pinning him to the floor with a hand around his throat.

For a long moment there is no sound in the room but our laboured breathing as Gale and I try to bring our rage back under control. Eventually Gale releases Haymitch and stalks back to the side of the table where I am standing, my fists clenched at my side.

Haymitch chuckles as gets up from the floor and rights his chair. Then he turns to examine my knife embedded in the wall, a mere inch above the top of his head when he was seated. "Not bad," he says when he turns back to face us, sitting again at the table and reaching for the bottle of alcohol calmly, as though we hadn't just made two almost-attempts on his life. "What else have you got?"

"Forget it," Gale spits viciously. "We don't need your help." At the moment, I'm more than inclined to agree.

"You sure about that?" Haymitch asks casually, but then his voice turns intensely serious. "Because from what I saw at the reaping, you need it a hell of a lot more than you realize."

My anger cools from boiling to a low simmer at his words, as all my worries from what we saw in the recap and the interview with Snow come rushing back to me. Even Gale relaxes slightly beside me. There is a reason we decided we needed Haymitch's help in the first place, and it seems like he might already be aware of how much more than the just usual mentoring our situation is going to require.

Gale and I exchange a quick glance, then look at Haymitch meaningfully. I say in the most level voice I can manage given that I am filled with fresh irritation that he is making this so difficult when he apparently understands the complexity of our position, "I think we _do _realize. Have you watched the recap yet?"

Haymitch blinks in surprise, not having expected us to understand the shitstorm we started with our actions at the reaping. _Good_, I think. If he underestimated us, others will too - we can use that. He nods. "This morning, before breakfast, when I finally managed to climb my way out of the mountain of towels _someone_ had buried me under, half-naked and soaking wet." Like Gale, I had figured Haymitch wouldn't remember anything about last night. His expression tells me that is not the case. So that is why he's being so difficult this morning. How charmingly petty. We should have just left him on the floor.

"You're welcome," Gale grumbles.

I sigh, sick of fighting, and drop back down into my chair. Gale follows suit a moment later. "So does that mean you'll help us?" I ask, doing my best to keep the sudden exhaustion I feel out of my voice. Gale takes my hand in his under the table, giving it a light squeeze.

"Maybe," Haymitch answers. I scowl in irritation and Gale huffs disgustedly. But Haymitch cuts us off before we can lay into him, "Look, you kids have a tough road ahead. I need to know that you have what it takes to make a real go of it. So you're both good with knives, and loverboy's got a decent choke-hold. What other skills do you have?"

A quick look at Gale and I know that I'm going to be fielding this one, the 'loverboy' nickname having pissed him off all over again. "We can hunt," I start. "We're both pretty good with a bow and arrow."

"I'm pretty good with a bow and arrow," Gale interrupts, "Katniss is _amazing_ with one. Her aim's perfect - she can hit anything dead in the eye every time."

I'm both flattered and irritated by the way he's talking me up at the expense of himself, so I continue, "Gale's great with snares. He can set up really elaborate traps, that no one would notice and wouldn't be able to get out of once they're caught."

"Katniss can run really fast."

"Gale can run faster."

"She can climb trees quicker and higher than anyone I've ever seen."

"He's strong and can handle himself in a fist-fight."

"She's -"

"Okay!" Haymitch interjects, stopping whatever Gale was going to say next. "I get the picture. You two do know that you're supposed to be competitors in there?"

We stare coldly at Haymitch, clearly communicating that that will not be happening. It is not even an option.

He looks at us with approval. "Good. Fine, so you have basically the same skill set. You look reasonably well-fed, so that'll give you an advantage over most of the tributes. The Careers will be tougher, but if you're smart you can probably handle them. And the star-crossed lover angle will play well with sponsors."

Gale looks furious again. "Our relationship is _not_ a strategy," he hisses.

Haymitch looks at him with aggravation. "I hate to break it to you," - though he actually seems to be enjoying it immensely - "but it's either a strategy or it's a liability. When you step into that Arena, everything about you becomes part of the Games. I'm not questioning the sincerity of your 'true love,' but in there you either let them use it as a tool against you, or you wield it as a weapon against _them_. Those are your only options." Something about the way Haymitch is looking at us tells me that when Haymitch says 'them,' he means the Capitol itself as much as the other tributes.

Though he doesn't look happy about it, Gale nods, conceding the point. Haymitch seems to be considering something carefully, then he asks pointedly, "How far are you willing to take this?"

I can tell immediately from his tone that he doesn't just mean using our relationship as a strategy for the Games. Or more accurately, he doesn't mean using our relationship as a strategy _just _for the _Games_. There is more to Haymitch than I initially realized. He understands that what happened at the reaping ignited something that was building just below the surface in the districts. He looks eager to see it grow - I guess I shouldn't be surprised, he has as much reason to hate the Capitol as anyone, if not more. And he knows that what we do in the Games has the possibility to turn that spark of defiance into a flame of rebellion.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. I don't like the idea of mine and Gale's relationship being used as an instrument of rebellion. I am terrified of what could happen to Prim and my mother, and Gale's family as well, if the Capitol gets the impression that we are wilfully trying to incite an uprising. I loathe the Capitol and would gladly dance on the ruins of President Snow's mansion if it were to ever fall - but being at the heart of a resistance movement has always been Gale's fantasy, not mine. I never wanted to start a revolution.

But perhaps the revolution had already started quietly, and was just waiting for the right catalyst to breathe life into it. We happened to be that catalyst, but it would have happened sooner or later regardless. The resentments run too deep and the injustices have carried on for far too long. Unintentional though it may have been, we have put ourselves into a position to contribute to real change in Panem - or to its total destruction. It is more responsibility than I ever wanted. But if we are destined to die in the Arena, at least we now have the chance to try to keep our sacrifice from being in vain.

We will have to be extremely careful to be subtle in how we proceed. Any open display of defiance would bring swift and immediate retribution on our families, and nothing would make that acceptable to me.

Gale is watching me closely. If it were just him, I know what he would choose. But he knows I am more reticent than he is to upset the balance of things, and so he lets me make the decision for us. I wish I had more time to consider this, but time is the one thing we do not have.

Finally, I say slowly, choosing my words with caution, "We'll take it as far as necessary, so long as we don't bring … dishonour to our loved ones back home." I hope my tone makes it clear that it is not 'dishonour' I am worried about, but a horrible, painful death. But I can't say that out loud in case someone is listening to this conversation. Thankfully they both appear to grasp my true meaning.

Gale is practically beaming at me with excitement. I smile weakly back at him, still feeling fairly unsettled about the whole thing. But if our only choices are to die for the possibility of a better life for the rest of Panem, or to die for nothing, I choose a death with meaning.

Haymitch looks somewhat disappointed, having hoped for a more enthusiastic agreement, I guess. But he seems to accept my condition. "Alright," he says, "in that case I'll make you a deal. I'll stay sober enough to help you two, but you have to do _everything_ I say, no questions, no buts, no complaining." Gale and I nod in unison. "And that goes for your prep team and stylists when we get to the Capitol too. You're going to hate most of what they put you through, but how you're presented is almost entirely in their hands. And I doubt they'll be as forgiving as I am if you start flinging knives at their heads," he finishes dryly.

I blush, slightly embarrassed by our outbursts, although I still think Haymitch deserved it at the time. "Sorry about that," I mumble, though I don't sound terribly apologetic. Gale just shrugs indifferently.

Haymitch chuckles again, though there is no humour in it this time. "Don't worry about it. I've gotten worse." He takes a long drink from the bottle of white liquor. He considers us for a moment, then passes the bottle to Gale. Gale eyes it suspiciously at first, then a look of grim resolve settles over his features and he takes a sip himself, cringing slightly at the taste.

The room darkens suddenly, only the faint lights of the train illuminating the car as all natural light disappears, indicating that we have entered the tunnel through the mountains from which we will emerge into the Capitol. We will be there in less than an hour.

"It isn't going to be easy in there," Haymitch warns us. "You're both going to suffer."

Gale passes me the bottle, and I raise it to my lips. "No," I say, my voice hard. I drink, the alcohol blazing a path down my throat, cementing this unlikely conspiracy of three. "We are going to _burn_."

* * *

_A/N: Cue dramatic music! I'll be back later this week with Chapter 9, when, after 30,000+ words, we will _finally_ get to the Capitol. Please hit 'Review' if you have time and let me know what you thought about the last leg of our journey there :)_


	10. Let's Set the World on Fire

**A/N: **So this chapter is definitely not as intense as the last couple were, but it helps get us where we're going. I'll be back with another update this weekend, I promise!

Thank you again to everyone reading and everyone reviewing! I know I say it every time, but I really mean it - you guys are the best :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. 'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins and her publishers. Chapter title and lyrics come from Fun's - "We Are Young."

* * *

**Chapter 9 - Let's Set the World on Fire**

_~So let's set the world on fire / we can burn brighter than the sun~_

The tunnel goes on for miles. The mountain range separating the Capitol from the eastern districts of Panem is extremely wide, forming a barrier that is all but impossible to scale. The main reason the original rebellion ultimately failed was the district armies' inability to penetrate this natural line of defense. Passing through it now is a depressing reminder of how our time in the Games is just the beginning of the challenges before us, even if we succeed in spawning a revolution.

The longer we are in the tunnel, the more claustrophobic I feel. I can't stop thinking about the massive amount of rock above us, pressing in on us from all sides. It reminds me of the mines, of the collapse that killed my father, how it took them days to dig his body out from under all the rubble.

Every year the school in District 12 brings all the students down into the mines to learn first-hand about the job most of us will be doing when we reach working age. The first time I had to go after the accident, I panicked as the rickety old elevator made its descent. I screamed and screamed until finally they had no choice but to bring us back up to the surface. I was lucky that my teacher that year was lenient and felt sorry for me given that the accident hadn't been that long ago, or I would have been punished harshly for my display of weakness. After that, I always found a way to get out of the annual trip, unable to bring myself to face that hellhole again.

Gale is tense beside me, the darkness and stone encasing us affecting him almost as much as it is me. I remember the bottle of alcohol that I am still holding and take a hearty swig to try to calm my nerves. Gale takes it from me and does the same before passing the bottle back to Haymitch, who looks distinctly amused.

"Well haven't you two just turned out to be a pair after my own heart," he smirks, standing up as we roll our eyes at him. "Remember what I said - let your prep teams do their jobs and don't give them a hard time. We'll talk more tonight after the tribute parade. Try to stay out of trouble until then." We nod and he gives us one last considering look, then heads down the hall in the direction of his room.

I sigh heavily when he's gone. Gale reaches over and takes my hand in his, rubbing his thumb soothingly along the back of it. "How are you holding up?" he asks.

I think about the question, trying to catalogue all the things I'm feeling right now. I'm nervous about what we are going to be put through today by our prep teams. I'm dreading what awaits us in the Arena. I'm afraid that we are in over our heads with this plan to take on the Capitol. I'm terrified that Prim and my mother are going to end up in danger because of us. I'm bitter about the unfairness of everything that's happened to us over the past 24 hours. I'm angry about the years of suffering and oppression that have finally led to this point. Most of all I'm wishing desperately that we were home, in our woods, just going about our lives, with only our families' fate to worry about, not all of Panem's.

Finally I just shrug, since I can't say at least half of those things out loud right now, and I can't change a damn one of them. "You know me," I say, keeping my tone carefully light.

Gale knows me too well to be fooled, and just looks at me worriedly. "Catnip…" he starts, when suddenly the train is flooded with light. We both whip around to look out the window behind us, getting our first real view of the Capitol besides what we've seen on television. The buildings tower above us, the sun glinting off their rainbow-coloured facades. Shiny cars zip along the criss-crossing roads. There are people everywhere, dressed in the brightly coloured clothes that are so fashionable in the Capitol, their hair and faces made up in all sorts of bizarre styles. Everything looks gaudy and fake, and I am certain that nothing has ever appeared more hideous to me.

The people soon start to crowd along the track, having recognized our train as one of those that brings the tributes into their city. Gale grimaces but stands up, tugging gently on my hand laced with his to get me to my feet as well.

"What are you doing?" I ask, confused, as he guides me to the window.

"Strategy, remember?" he replies, the distaste clear in his voice. "Got to give the people a good show." I cringe internally, but follow his lead, wrapping an arm around his waist and raising my other hand to greet the crowd. Their excitement is clear as they recognize us, and I'm certain that we will be one of this years' Games' biggest attractions; our tragic circumstances serving as an exciting new source of entertainment to them. My disgust at this strengthens my resolve, and for the first time I feel a bit of anticipation for what's to come.

* * *

The train brought us directly into what they call the Remake Center, where Gale and I were immediately shuffled off to separate rooms to be worked on by our prep teams. That was more than three hours ago. Since then, my entire body has been scrubbed thoroughly with a coarse foam one of my team, a plump woman named Octavia whose skin has been dyed a light green, told me would "exfoliate" my skin, which seems to mean "remove several layers of it." The man, Flavius, has been working on my hair almost the entire time, washing and rinsing and trimming it, applying all manner of creams and balms to it, which he assures me will make it as soft and smooth as silk. But his bright orange corkscrew curls have me more than a little bit nervous that he has dyed my hair some insane colour without telling me.

By far the worst part has been the hair removal, a process that I think must have taken up at least two of the last three hours. Per the third and final member of my prep team, Venia, who is sporting aqua hair and has an intricate design tattooed in gold above her eyebrows, this is because I am "just so hairy," an assessment that irritates me far more than it should (though the look on her face when I grumbled that I've never gotten any complaints almost made it worthwhile). Every inch of my body has been waxed and plucked bald, not a single stray hair remaining anywhere below my eyebrows, which they have also thinned considerably. I wonder if Gale is being subjected to the same treatment and can't help snickering a bit at the idea.

Venia finally pulls the last strip of hair from my leg, and then she and Octavia rub me down with a lotion that burns at first but soon soothes my raw skin. They gesture for me to get off the table I have been sitting on, and then circle me as I stand there completely naked, looking for any rogue hairs they may have missed. Finally satisfied, they stand back to admire their work. Normally I'd be horribly embarrassed to have anyone staring at me in this state, but they are so bizarre that it's more like being gawked at by a trio of rare birds than actual people.

"Wonderful!" Flavius proclaims. "You almost look like a human being now!" They all laugh, and I force myself to remember Haymitch's order not to throw knives at their heads.

"Thank you," I manage to say, making myself smile gratefully at them. "I've never had the opportunity to look so nice before." I give myself a mental pat on the back for getting the sentence out without gagging, especially since it seems to win them over completely. They all coo sympathetically and assure me that I'm actually quite decent with all the filth removed from my body, before pronouncing me ready for my stylist and scurrying out of the room to retrieve him.

I stand awkwardly as I wait, tempted to pull on the robe that is hanging in the corner but deciding not to bother since I'm sure my stylist will want to get a good look at what he has to work with. A couple minutes later the door opens again, and a surprisingly normal-looking young man walks in. He is not at all what I was expecting. He's dressed simply in a black shirt and pants, his dark brown hair cropped close to his head. The only trace of the usual Capitol flare is a thin stripe of gold eyeliner along his lash-line, which actually serves to highlight the warmth of his deep brown eyes. I find myself immediately relaxing, hoping that his good taste will extend to whatever he has planned for me.

"Hello Katniss. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says softly, only the barest hint of the Capitol accent in his voice. He smiles warmly at me, and I find myself returning it automatically.

"You're new, aren't you?" I ask. "I don't recall seeing you among the stylists in any of the previous Games."

He nods as he approaches me, examining me closely but professionally from head to toe. "This is my first year." He steps back and grabs the robe from its hook, passing it to me and gesturing for me to sit in one of the plush chairs near the window in the room once I have put it on.

"So they stuck you with District 12?" First-time stylists are generally given 12, since no one with any sort of reputation wants us.

"I asked for District 12," Cinna replies as he sits in the chair opposite me. There is a low table between us and Cinna presses a few buttons. A moment later the top of the table slides back and two plates bearing thick sandwiches and a leafy green salad rise up out of it, along with two glasses of sparkling water and bowls with a honey-coloured pudding. I think of all the people in District 12 who never experience a day when they have enough food to eat; the children who are forced to take the tesserae just to keep from starving; how Gale and I are only able to keep our families well-fed by hunting illegally, risking a death sentence should we ever be caught by the wrong person. But in the Capitol, you can just push a button and all the food you could possibly want simply appears. I am filled with a vicious contempt for the Capitol and all its denizens for the easy, frivolous lives they lead while we struggle day-in and day-out just to survive.

I lift my gaze from the table to see Cinna looking at me as though he has read my thoughts, his expression rueful and his eyes bright with understanding. My level of respect for him rises.

"So Katniss," he begins, "let's discuss your costume for the opening ceremonies. As you know, it's tradition for the outfits to reflect the industry of your district."

I nod. Since District 12's main industry is coal mining, stylists typically put our tributes in some variation of a sexed-up coal miners uniform. One year the stylist even went so far as to have the tributes appear naked, covered in nothing but coal dust. The costumes are always terrible, and do nothing to win the tributes any favour among the sponsors in the Capitol. I hope Cinna has something better in mind for us, although I'll mostly just be happy if we aren't naked. "So I'll be in a coal miner's outfit?"

He smiles, "Not quite. My partner Portia - she's Gale's stylist - and I think that the mining aspect has been overdone and would be too forgettable. And we very much want people to remember you." There is a conspiratorial glint in his eyes as he says this, though I don't dare try to guess what it means. "So we're going to focus on the coal itself instead."

I frown, confused. "I'm not sure I understand."

He grins enigmatically. "You'll see. When you and Gale enter the City Circle tonight, you're going to set the whole world on fire." My eyes widen at his words, and there is something in his expression that makes me wonder if perhaps the anti-Capitol conspiracy is larger than I thought. And I realize that I will be immensely relieved if this is true, since it means we will have more than just _Haymitch_ on our side.

* * *

A few hours later I'm standing in costume on the bottom level of the Remake Center, slightly overwhelmed by the pandemonium as the other tributes and their teams fill the room. I'm rethinking my earlier relief at Cinna's possible involvement, trying to decide whether he's a genius or just completely insane. The base of the outfit is a simple long-sleeved black unitard. On my feet are a pair of black leather boots so shiny I can practically see my reflection in them. But the real focal points of the costume are the long black cape with ribbons of orange and gold and red flowing my shoulders, and the matching headpiece set atop my braided hair. The headpiece is a polished black material that looks like metal but is soft and supple. On either side the material is shaped into two flames that rise up from my head, pointing backwards, like candles blowing in the wind. They are attached to a band that is thickest at the base of the flames but narrows in a gentle curve to the front, the two sides crossing to form a tear-drop shape in the centre of my forehead.

I started questioning Cinna's sanity when he announced that he plans to light both the cape and headpiece on fire. He assured me that it wouldn't be a real flame, just a synthetic one that he and Portia had developed, and that it would be completely safe. I remain skeptical.

Cinna is putting some finishing touches on my make-up - which is thankfully very light, just enough to highlight my features while still leaving me recognizably myself - when I spot Gale emerge from the elevator, accompanied by what I assume is his prep team. His outfit is nearly identical to mine, with the addition of a pair of slim-fitting black pants that sit low on his hips. He looks ridiculously attractive, the width of the cape highlighting his broad shoulders, and the well-defined muscles of his chest, stomach and arms plainly visible under the snug black top.

I glance quickly around the large space and see that just about every other woman there is ogling him too. By now he has noticed me and is heading in our direction. But District 12's station is about as far from the elevator as you can get, so he has to cross nearly the entire room. As he works his way through the room, several of the bolder women try to catch his attention, but he ignores them all, his gaze trained solely on me. It feels like it takes him ages to reach our station, but finally he manages to push through the last of the crowd and strides purposefully towards me. I step forward to meet him and as soon as I am within arms reach he sweeps me up in a deep kiss that I return with equal enthusiasm. It feels like it's been days since I last saw him, instead of mere hours. And, I admit to myself, there is also a petty part of me that wants all the women in the room who are lusting after to him to know that he is absolutely _not_ available.

When we pull apart I can hear our prep teams tittering to each other somewhere behind me, but I choose to ignore them. Gale takes a step back, his hands still resting on my hips, and eyes my outfit appreciatively. "Love the cat-suit, Catnip," he whispers, moving closer to me again to place another quick kiss on my lips.

"Alright you two," Cinna interrupts, though not unkindly. "Let's get you to your ride." He leads us to the chariot that will bring us into the City Circle; the last one in line as District 12 is always the final one in the parade. The chariot is pulled by two sleek black horses, who are so well-trained they don't even have drivers. We climb in and stand beside each other, Gale to my left, and our teams set about fussing with our outfits to make sure everything is perfectly in place. I eye Cinna and the woman I assume is Portia nervously as they prepare a small blowtorch that will apparently be used to light our capes and headpieces.

Gale follows my gaze, and nudges me lightly with his elbow to get my attention. I look up and his eyes are filled with amusement. "This is your fault, you know."

"_How?_" I ask, bewildered.

"You did say we were going to burn," he reminds me teasingly.

I scowl. I did say that. "I didn't mean _literally_," I grumble, casting another apprehensive glance in Cinna's direction.

Gale chuckles but offers, "I'll rip your cape off if you'll rip off mine."

"Deal," I mutter. I can't resist adding jokingly, although the tiniest hint of irritation creeps into my voice against my will, "Though I'm sure any of the other women in here would be more than willing to rip your _'cape' _off."

Gale doesn't say anything, just takes my left hand in his right one and raises it to his lips, placing a lingering kiss on the pulse in my wrist, his eyes locked on my mine. My breath catches in my throat and he smiles at me, lowering our hands again but not releasing mine.

I jump a bit when the opening music begins, having forgotten for a moment where we were. A set of massive doors slides open, revealing the crowd-lined streets. They begin cheering as the first chariot, bearing the tributes from District 1, emerges. The procession will take about 20 minutes to reach the City Circle, where we will be welcomed as a group by President Snow himself, before being brought into the Training Center, which will house us (jail us, really) until the Games begin.

District 11's chariot is just rolling out when Cinna and Portia appear and, with no word of warning, set our capes ablaze. I yelp in surprise, but relax when I realize that it isn't burning me alive and in fact isn't even hot. Cinna smiles, and says, "I told you it would be perfectly safe," but there is a clear note of relief in his voice. They use the torch to light the flame tips of our headpieces, and then our chariot begins to move.

At first the crowd reacts with alarm at our appearance, but we raise our free hands to wave at them, and the shouts of fright soon turn into excited and appreciative cheers. I hear people shouting our names, either because they remembered them from the reaping or have looked them up in their programs at our spectacular entrance. It's impossible not to get caught up in the excitement and I find myself smiling easily, blowing kisses at the audience. Yes, we are definitely going to be one of the main attractions this year. For once District 12 might not have any trouble winning sponsors.

I look up and catch sight of our image, being displayed on one of the many screens that line the streets above the crowd. I am stunned by what I see. It is twilight now, and the flames dancing around our heads has turned us into shining beacons in the growing darkness, our capes seeming to leave a trail of fire in our wake. Our faces glow, the subtle highlighting makeup working in combination with the flames to make us appear more attractive, more powerful, but still like ourselves. We look like we are lit-up from within, like the fire is burning inside our bodies, radiating outwards. The effect is absolutely perfect. If Haymitch is sober enough to be watching this, he must be thrilled.

Then something about our headpieces catches my attention, and I nearly fall out of the chariot in shock when I realize what it is. Before they were set ablaze, the headpieces appeared to have a smooth, flat surface. But with the fire illuminating them, a subtle design etched into them becomes apparent. The double-flames rising on either side of our heads are not actually flames at all, but pairs of wings. The curved band is the elongated body of two birds, one beneath each pair of wings. The tear-drop shape where the two sides overlap on our foreheads is formed by the heads of the birds, crossed at the neck, the tips of their beaks meeting in the middle.

Two mockingjays, twined together, sit atop mine and Gale's heads, as we ride into the heart of the Capitol.

The design is discreet enough that most of the Capitol audience likely won't pick up on it, but it will be more recognizable to the people in the districts, who have long held up the mockingjay as an anti-Capitol symbol. But I have no doubt that President Snow will see it for what it is immediately, a fact that makes me extremely uneasy. I wonder when Cinna decided on these for our costumes - did he plan to use them all along, regardless of who the tributes were, or were they meant for us specifically after what happened at our reaping?

I peek up at Gale out of the corner of my eye to catch him surreptitiously studying the side of my headpiece, figuring out what it was that I saw that rattled me so much. He squeezes my hand reassuringly when he notices my gaze on him, but his eyes are filled with a grim satisfaction that does nothing to calm me. I sigh internally but stand up straighter, steeling myself as we enter the City Circle, pulling up directly beside President Snow's mansion where the man himself is standing on a balcony overlooking the crowd, his cold gaze fixed directly on us. _No turning back now._


	11. Welcome to Paradise

**A/N: **So I was going to post this Saturday afternoon, but then I figured what the heck, why not put it up now. So here it is! Thanks again to everyone following along, and to those who are taking the time to review :) Please keep the comments coming!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

* * *

**Chapter 10 - Welcome to Paradise**

I don't hear a single word of President Snow's welcome address, I'm too busy trying to decide whether Cinna has done us a great favour or a huge disservice with the mockingjay headpieces. I'm pretty sure no one else in the crowd is listening to Snow either, though - the cameras make an effort to show all the tributes as Snow speaks, but the display on the screen keeps returning to Gale and myself, our fiery costumes seeming to burn even brighter as the sky darkens into full night. From what I can see of the crowd, the effect is immensely distracting, keeping all eyes on us.

I realize that Snow must have finished only when the anthem begins to play. When it ends, the chariots proceed into the lowest level of the Training Center. As soon as the doors close behind us, Gale and I are swarmed by our prep teams, chattering excitedly about how wonderful we looked and how no one in the city will be able to stop talking about us, the boy and girl who were on fire, for days. When we step out of the chariot, Cinna and Portia approach us to remove the flaming pieces of our outfits and extinguish the synthetic fire with some sort of foam spray. I catch Cinna's eye as he lifts my headpiece off, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He smiles enigmatically and winks at me. Yes, they were definitely designed specifically for me and Gale.

Effie Trinket bustles up to us, practically convulsing with joy. There is still no sign of Haymitch and I wonder briefly if he's already forgotten his promise to stay sober and is passed out somewhere. "Oh that was just spectacular! Those costumes were simply breath-taking, fabulous work Cinna and Portia, absolutely fabulous! And you two!" She beams so intensely as she pivots to face Gale and I that we actually jump back slightly, her glee is like a physical force. "I am just so proud of you! I told you those positive attitudes would do wonders for you, and I was right! No one will be able to ignore District 12 this year!"

_You have no idea how true that is_, I think dryly. Gale and I exchange a brief wry look, but smile back at her, thanking her for her praise. She starts leading us towards the elevator that will take us up to our suite in the Training Center, going on breathlessly about how she has been talking us up to sponsors all day and how she's certain our performance at the opening ceremonies will guarantee we'll be a favourite. "Of course I've had to be very mysterious with what I tell them, since Haymitch hasn't bothered to fill me in on your strategy." Gale snorts at this and I let out a small choked cough, but Effie continues on, oblivious to our reactions, "But I've done my best with what I have to work with. Katniss sacrificing herself for her sister, only for her lover to be reaped as well - people are simply wild about what an amazing story it will make!"

I personally think Gale deserves a medal for not throttling Effie on the spot, because I can tell from his expression that he really, _really _wants to. I'm not exactly pleased either, but I'm also not surprised that this is how the Capitol people would see it - not as something terribly unfair and cruel that happened to two fellow human beings, but simply a new twist that would add to the Games' entertainment value. And since we did agree to let our relationship be the main part of our strategy, we both bite our tongues.

"Unfortunately I can't seal the sponsor deals myself; Haymitch is the only one who can do that. But I'll make sure he does, even if I have to hold a gun to his head," she assures us firmly and I have to admire her determination.

The elevator doors slide open and we step in. Effie presses the button for 12, explaining that there's one floor for each district, with the floor numbers corresponding to the district number. As District 12, we are on the highest floor. "The penthouse!" Effie exclaims brightly, her expression making it clear that she considers this to be one of the few perks of chaperoning such a lousy district.

The only elevator I've ever been on is the one that goes into the mines. That one is made of old wood, held together by a few rusty bolts, surrounded on all sides by dark rock, and travels shakily along an ancient cable that looks like it could snap at any moment. It is the most terrifying contraption that I have ever had the misfortune of stepping foot in. This elevator, on the other hand, is made entirely of crystal and glides smoothly along the outer wall of the residential tower of the Training Center, providing an exhilarating view outside as we ascend into the sky.

The doors open again, admitting us into a luxurious room that appears to be the common area of our suite. Directly in front of us are several plush couches set around the largest television I have ever seen. The opposite wall is made entirely of glass, with a door leading to a wide balcony overlooking the city. The dining area is off to our right, and I can see a long hallway extending to our left. Effie leads us to the right, past the dining area and down a shorter hallway that leads to another, which runs behind one side of the common area. There are two doors, one on either side of the hall.

"This will be your room, Katniss," Effie says, indicating the door to our right. She gestures to the left, "And Gale, this one is yours. Though I suppose it's too much to hope that you'll actually use it," she finishes dryly. He and I look at each other and grin, shrugging at Effie. She's not wrong.

"Of course," she sighs but doesn't comment otherwise, apparently resigned to tolerating our 'scandalous' behaviour. "Dinner will be served in an hour …" she looks at us as if she is trying to make a decision, then rolls her eyes, adding "and a half." Her tone makes it clear that she thinks she is doing us a great favour by giving us this extra time; a reward for our good performance today, no doubt. "_Please_ don't be late. Cinna and Portia will be joining us, and I'll do my best to round-up Haymitch."

We nod in agreement, and I say in my most sincere voice, "Thank you, Effie. For everything." We're on her good side at the moment and I'd like to stay there as long as possible.

"Yes well…hmmm," she seems a bit flustered by my apparent gratitude. She gives us another considering look, and I again catch a hint of sympathy in her gaze, but then she smiles brightly and nods before turning to walk briskly down the hall, the sound of her clacking heels fading as she rounds the corner.

"So Catnip," Gale says when she is gone, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "your place or mine?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and I laugh, reaching back to twist the knob on my door. I tug lightly on his shirt to pull him into the room after me, shutting the door firmly behind us.

* * *

We actually make it to dinner a couple minutes early, causing Effie no end of delight. After Effie left us earlier, we had headed straight for the shower in my room to wash off the make-up and sweat from our tight costumes. As on the train, both the bedroom and the adjoining bathroom here are absolutely enormous. The shower actually has even more options than the one on the train did, but the set-up is essentially the same so we were able to figure it out fairly quickly. When we had stripped off the confining garments from our costumes, I could see that Gale had not been subjected to the torture known as waxing and felt a stab of envy at how much easier his day had been. Then I noticed the way he was staring at me with raw desire, and decided that my ordeal may have had some unexpected benefits after all.

When we finally emerged from the shower, Gale went to his room to get some clothes. I figured out that I could program an outfit to my tastes from the enormous closet, and selected a pair of soft black pants similar to those I had worn on the train and a violet shirt with a wide neck and bell sleeves that flared to an end just below my elbows. As I waited for Gale to return, I wandered over to the window that takes up an entire wall of the room. With the press of a button I could change the window to show different views of the city, and scenic portions of each of the districts. I was staring sadly at an image of the meadow in District 12 when Gale came back in. Rather than linger, I decided we might as well go meet the others.

We are still the last to arrive, finding Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia all seated around a large table made of rich dark wood. Haymitch appears to have kept up his end of the bargain, looking as sober as I've ever seen him. He seems to have spent some time with a stylist of his own - his normally stringy shoulder-length blond hair looks washed and groomed, his clothes are clean, and the smell of alcohol that typically permeates the air around him is barely detectable.

Gale takes the empty seat beside Haymitch, and I slide into a chair next to Cinna, across the table from Gale. If the subject of our strategy comes up during dinner, we need to be able to read each others' faces, to communicate without speaking. And hopefully after dinner we can find somewhere to sneak away to and finally talk about all the things we need to. We can't trust that our rooms aren't bugged, but the balcony might be alright. I glance quickly in that direction, only to be startled when Cinna asks me quietly, "Have you been up to the roof yet?"

I shake my head. I didn't even know we _could _go up to the roof.

"The view is incredible up there. The wind's a bit loud, but you can see practically the entire city. You and Gale should go take a look after dinner," he tells me, keeping his voice low, looking at me meaningfully. I agree and Cinna smiles in a way that once again makes me wonder if he isn't at least a little unbalanced. Unbalanced in a helpful way, to be sure, but still.

Several servants in white tunics appear to bring out the first course, a creamy mushroom soup. One of the servers sets out glasses of white wine in front of everyone, and I sip mine slowly. I've never had wine before and I find I quite like the sweet tang of it, but I know I need to keep my head clear. But I reason that if I could handle the liquor Haymitch offered us on the train this morning, a glass of wine shouldn't be a problem.

After the soup comes a salad of bitter greens with small tomatoes, then roast beef covered in a thick gravy and served with wild rice and roasted vegetables. The servants never speak a word, just gliding in and out silently to keep our plates and glasses full. At the end of the meal, a female servant brings out a beautiful cake and sets the whole thing ablaze with a single match. It burns brightly for a minute before the flames die, leaving the icing a crisp caramel colour. I look up to ask her what makes it burn, only to be struck dumb when I see her face.

I recognize this girl, her dark red hair, prominent features and porcelain skin oddly familiar, but I can't remember from where. Looking at her fills me a deep sense of guilt and powerful anxiety, and I know that it can't be anywhere good. The way she freezes, terror in her eyes, when I look at her tells me that she remembers me too. I glance at Gale and he shakes his head at me sharply. He's recognized her as well, but has figured out why and knows I shouldn't say anything. Haymitch is eyeing us warily, but says nothing and seems to relax when Gale and I turn back to our plates. The girl slices the cake and sets a piece in front of each of us, then scurries out of the room.

When she's no longer in view, I can't help but blurt out, "Why don't they talk? The servants, I mean."

"Because they're Avoxes," Effie replies, her tone suggesting I've asked a very silly question. Off of my confused look, she adds, "People who have committed crimes against the Capitol. Treason of some sort, usually. Their tongues have been cut out as punishment. You musn't speak to them, unless it's to give them an order." She takes a bite of her cake and gives a small squeal of delight at the taste, evidently considering the subject closed. But the mention of the word "treason" has triggered my memory - I know where I recognize her from, and I was right, it is definitely nowhere good. I've lost my appetite but force myself to take a few bites of the cake, since it would appear suspicious not to.

I reach for my wine glass to try to ease my anxiety, but stop as I realize that if I keep drinking every time something about this experience gets too hard to bear I'm going to wind up just like Haymitch. Then I scowl as I remember that I don't intend to _survive_ this experience, so I'll never even have the chance to end up like Haymitch, and toss back the rest of the glass in a single angry gulp. Gale is eyeing me curiously, his expression concerned with just a hint of amusement. I just shrug at him, returning to my cake.

A different servant enters to remove our plates when we have finished dessert. Haymitch leans back as the table is cleared, and addresses me and Gale. "Training starts tomorrow morning at 10am. I want you to meet me for breakfast no later than 8, and I'll let you know how I want you to play it."

I frown, and Gale huffs in irritation, "I thought you said we'd talk tonight."

Haymitch responds brusquely, "I changed my mind."

I notice his eyes flick briefly in Effie's direction - whatever we have to talk about, he doesn't want her to hear it. But Gale, sitting next to Haymitch, doesn't see the motion, so he stands, spits out a frustrated "_Fine,_" and starts walking in the direction of our rooms.

"Where are you going?" Effie calls indignantly. "The replay of the opening ceremonies will be starting soon!"

"I was there," he shrugs dismissively. "Pretty sure I know how it ends." And before Effie can say anything further, he disappears around the corner.

"I'll go get him," I sigh, rising myself.

Haymitch waves me off, "It's 's right. You can have the rest of the night off - use it wisely." He looks at me pointedly and I nod in understanding. Gale and I had better figure out tonight exactly how we want to handle ourselves from this point on, because after tomorrow morning, there's no going back.

"Thanks," I say gratefully. Haymitch grunts in acknowledgement. I exchange a quick smile with Cinna before I scurry off after Gale, the sound of Effie berating Haymitch for "setting a terrible example" and letting us "shirk our responsibilities" and "behave like a pair of hooligans" fading behind me. I remember my earlier wish to stay on her good side as long as possible and grin ruefully. _Well, it was nice while it lasted._

* * *

When I push open the door to Gale's room, I find him sitting on the low seat that spans the length of the window, his arms draped lightly over his bent knees and his head leaning back to rest against the adjoining wall. His gaze is directed out the window but he doesn't seem to actually be seeing anything out there, his grey eyes stormy and deep in thought. There are no lights on, the only illumination coming from the moonlight and the glow of the city streaming in through the window.

I approach him silently, waiting for him to speak first. Finally he turns to look at me, grimacing as he says, "Come to summon me before the court?"

"No," I reply, stepping forward to stand next to him. I lift my right hand to stroke his hair gently, running my fingers through the dark locks, and he sighs, wrapping one arm around my waist to pull me closer and resting his head against my stomach. "Haymitch gave us the night off."

"How generous of him," he grumbles.

I ignore that. "Cinna suggested we go up to the roof. He said the view's amazing, if you can stand the noise of the wind." He raises his eyes to mine and I nod, answering the unspoken question in them - _we will be able to talk openly up there._

"Alright," he agrees and I step back so that he can get up from the bench, his long limbs unfolding gracefully. "Do you know where it is?"

"On top of the building, I imagine," I say innocently, not quite able to fully suppress my smile when he looks down at me incredulously.

After a beat Gale shakes his head and smiles, cupping my face in both his palms. "Oh Catnip," he leans down to kiss me gently, "I do love you."

"I know," I grin, raising myself on my tip-toes to press my lips quickly to his. He chuckles and I reach out to grab his hand, leading us out of the room in search of the roof access and the chance to finally say all of the many things we need to.

* * *

_A/N: So, some of you may have noticed that um … nothing actually happened in this chapter. Originally this and Chapter 11 were gonna go together but it would have been crazy long, so I split them up. BUT to make up for that, Chapter 11 will be up tomorrow! And it's a super important one! So I hope you'll stick with me :)_


	12. A Change is Gonna Come

**A/N:** Okay, as promised here's the next chapter! I hope you guys like it - it was one of my favourites to write.

As always, a big thank you to everyone for reading and for your fantastic feedback!

**Disclaimer: **'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins and her publishers. Chapter title and lyrics come from Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come."

* * *

**Chapter 11 - A Change is Gonna Come**

_~ It's been too hard living but I'm afraid to die~_

We find the roof access quickly, via a flight of stairs at the end of the corridor leading to the hallway with our rooms, in the opposite direction of the dining room. The stairs lead to a small glass dome with a door that opens into the brisk night air. The surface of the roof is covered in large, smooth pebbles that shift gently under our feet as we walk across them.

Gale and I make our way to the edge, resting our arms on the low wall enclosing the roof. Cinna was right - the view is incredible. The Training Center is built on top of a hill in the heart of the Capitol. The entire city sprawls out before us, its electric lights twinkling brightly like earth-bound stars. Also as promised, the wind howls loudly up here, and we can just barely hear the sounds of revelry rising up from the streets below as the population celebrates the start of its biggest social event of the year. _Celebrates our impending deaths_, I think with disgust.

Something occurs to me and I break our silence. "I'm surprised they let us up here. You'd think somebody might try to jump off."

Gale thinks about this for a moment, then reaches down to pick up one of the pebbles. Before I can ask what he's doing, he whips his arm back and hurls it into the sky.

I have just enough time to wonder if the Capitol audience will get to see someone die sooner than they expected - first the unfortunate person below who ends up on the receiving end of the rock, and then us, executed publicly for murdering a citizen of the Capitol - when the stone suddenly reverses course and comes flying back towards us.

Gale and I instinctively hit the ground and I hear the pebble crash loudly into the surface just behind me. I glare at Gale as we get back to our feet, and he looks at me sheepishly. "Oops."

"Well at least you solved that mystery," I say dryly. Apparently the roof is surrounded by some sort of force-field to keep anyone that tries to jump from plummeting to their deaths. How thoughtful.

I roll my eyes and look around, noticing a large garden spread out beside the glass dome. I head in that direction, Gale keeping a safe distance behind me, lest I decide to start throwing any rocks of my own.

The garden is filled with all kinds of different flowers and shrubs, narrow stone paths criss-crossing throughout. There are wind chimes hang from decorative poles placed regularly along the paths, ringing steadily in the strong wind. I realize that between the two, anyone would have a nearly impossible time overhearing us talking here, especially if we keep our voices low.

Gale decides it's safe to approach me again and squeezes my arm, pointing out a flat cement bench set among the flowers. He sits down astride it, one leg on either side and I sit facing him, my legs wrapped loosely around his waist. He puts his arms around my shoulders, pulling me closer and I lean into his chest, content to just sit with him for a moment, my annoyance over the pebble incident forgotten.

A bed of poppies to my right catches my attention, their brilliant red colour nearly the same as the Avox girl's hair and I frown as I remember what it was about her that had distressed me so much.

"We could have helped her," I whisper into Gale's chest, my voice thick with remorse.

He doesn't have to ask who I am talking about. I feel him shake his head as he bends down, bringing his mouth closer to my ear. "No Katniss. There was nothing we could have done for her, not without suffering the same fate she did, or worse."

It was about a year and a half ago. Gale and I were hunting in the woods like usual, when suddenly all the birds fell silent, a sign that danger was near. We looked around us, trying to determine what had them so spooked, when suddenly we saw the girl, a boy about the same age with her, running - no, _fleeing_ - through the forest. Their clothes were tattered and dirty, their bodies borderline emaciated and the look in their eyes was unmistakable to me, as it was one I had seen many times before in the animals we hunted - the look of prey that knows its predator is near.

Gale had grabbed me and yanked me to the ground, rolling us under a nearby rock shelf just before a hovercraft shimmered into view in the sky. Our movement had caught the girl's attention and she locked eyes with me, screaming for help. Then a net dropped down suddenly and pulled her up inside before I could even blink. A moment later a spear shot out of the hovercraft, impaling the boy through the chest, killing him no doubt, and then his body was hauled up too, and the hovercraft disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived. The bird calls resumed a few minutes later, indicating that the danger had passed. But the girl's screams rang in my ears for days afterwards.

I've never been able to shake the feeling that we should have, _could have _done something to help them. "We didn't even try…"

"They were too far away, Catnip," Gale says soothingly. "We never could have reached them in time. We'd have been caught too." I blink back the tears that are forming in my eyes. Deep down, I know he's right, but I can't help feeling terrible about it all. And seeing her here, tonight, is such a unsettlingly stark reminder of the Capitol's reach and endless cruelty. It feels like a personal warning to Gale and I: _Nothing escapes our notice. This is the price of disobedience_.

Now that I think about it, I can't help but wonder if that isn't exactly what it is - what are the odds, that of all the servants in the Capitol, of all the places she could have been stationed, that she would end up in our suite? Can it possibly be just a coincidence?

"Do you think they know? That she was assigned to us on purpose, to send us a message?" I lean back to look in Gale's eyes, deeply alarmed. If they know about her, what else might they know about?

"I don't know," he answers, but I can tell from his grim tone that he's at least considered the possibility. I heave a troubled sigh and Gale places his palm on my cheek, his eyes burning fiercely when they meet mine. "But I promise, they'll pay for this. And everything else they've done." I shiver at his words, their effect less than comforting. But they at least remind me of our real purpose here and the discussion we need to have. There is no more time to dwell on the past.

"We need to talk about what we're going to do in the Arena, if we make it to the end," I say briskly, changing the subject.

Gale blinks in surprise at the abrupt shift in my demeanour, but nods in agreement. He regards me seriously for a moment, considering something, then asks, "I don't suppose there's any chance that I could convince you to let me sacrifice myself so that you could survive?"

I raise an eyebrow at him, responding, "I don't suppose there's any chance that _I_ could convince _you_ to let _me_ sacrifice myself so that _you_ could survive?"

He doesn't look surprised by my response, though he doesn't look happy about it either. "So that's a no," he mutters and I hum lightly in agreement. I can tell he thinks about arguing, but ultimately decides not to press the issue. "Fine. So what do you propose?"

"If we make it to the end, we die together," I say resolutely.

Gale blinks again, taken aback by my candor, but his voice is strong when he agrees, "Okay. We die together."

"Promise me," I insist, disbelieving that it could be that easy. "Promise me you won't kill yourself and leave me to face the aftermath, to face the rest of my life, to face _the Capitol _by myself. I don't want that. I don't want to be _their_ Victor."

He takes both of my hands in his and squeezes tightly. "I promise Catnip. I said whatever happens, we would be in it together. Always. I don't intend to go back on that."

"Good," I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion. "Me neither."

He kisses me briefly, then smiles, "Besides it'll make a pretty fantastic 'fuck you' to the Capitol, robbing them of their Victor."

I frown as something occurs to me that I hadn't thought of before. "But what about the districts?"

Gale furrows his brow in confusion. "What about them? It's the ultimate act of defiance. If we've played it right until then our deaths should be the spark the ignites a rebellion."

"Not if it seems selfish," I argue. "Think about it - if we fight to survive to the end, either killing their tributes or at least abiding their deaths, only to kill ourselves? When one of their own could have had a chance to come home, only to be deprived of it so that we could make a point? It might undo everything."

"So what are you saying, that we should just let ourselves be killed early on? The longer we stay in this thing, the more good we can do," he counters.

The idea hits me then. "You're right," I agree, sitting up straighter. "We have to fight to stay in it, even though we can't win. But that doesn't mean _nobody _can. We could stay in long enough to help someone else, then kill ourselves when we're down to just the three of us."

He eyes me warily. "You mean the girl from 11."

I nod, excitedly. "I mean anybody really, but yes, she'd be my first choice. You know I wanted to help her the second I saw her. We can protect her, give her a real chance. And think about what a powerful message it would be, if we died to spare this innocent girl, this _child_, who's from another district no less!"

Gale shakes his head slightly and I frown, but he holds up a hand to stop me from arguing further. "I'm not saying no, Katniss, but we need to think this through. First of all, it can't be 'anybody' - we can't let a Career win. They're in the pocket of the Capitol, it would undermine everything we're trying to accomplish." I think about this for a second and realize he's right, much as I find the idea of weighing one person's life as more valuable than another's more than a little distasteful. But I suppose that's unavoidable in this setting, and another Career victory would only send the message that the Capitol can't be beaten; that no amount of resistance can change the status quo.

I nod, acknowledging the validity of the argument. Gale continues, "We can help the girl. But three people is harder to protect than two, and I won't lie - you're always going to be my first priority. I'll do whatever I can for her, but not at the cost of your life."

"I know," I answer. I hadn't expected anything else.

He looks at me solemnly as he goes on, "And you need to accept that even if we do our best, we might not be able to get her to the end. Things happen in the Arena that we can't control. It might still come down to you and I."

I know this too. There are any number of ways this could play out, and none of us can make any guarantees about the safety of anyone's life in the Games. But if Gale and I reach the end having tried to bring someone else along with us, even if we fail and are the last two standing, our mutual deaths should have the desired impact. And Gale is right, the Capitol will loathe being denied their Victor.

I leap off the bench as a new idea suddenly strikes me. Gale looks startled as I pace wildly for a minute, thinking it through. Then I whirl on him, my eyes bright with hope for the first time since Effie read Prim's name yesterday. "They might have to let us live!" I whisper excitedly.

Gale gapes at me. "Is this what a psychotic break looks like?" he asks, baffled.

I scowl briefly and smack him on the shoulder, gratified when he winces. "Think about it! The Capitol has to have it's Victor, to parade around the districts and uphold their mask of benevolence and generosity. You said it yourself - if we both die, if we deny them their Victor, it's the ultimate act of defiance. It shows their weakness. It shows that they can be undermined. And if we've played it right, we'll have the districts on our side - maybe not the Career districts, but most of them. If we die together in the Arena rather than let them force us to turn on each other, we won't just be two more dead tributes…"

"We'll be _martyrs_," he finishes for me as understanding lights his eyes, meeting my fiery gaze with equal intensity, his voice filled with awe. "They could never allow that." Then he shakes his head, adding hesitantly, "But it's not like we'd suddenly be all pro-Capitol if we did survive. We'd be more trouble to them alive than dead."

I think about all the things that have happened so far. The salute we were given at the reaping was started by someone in the crowd, not us. Our kiss in place of the handshake could be written off as the actions of two lovers, devastated by their circumstances - we've made no secret of our relationship and the scene at the train station in District 12 will only reinforce that image. And we were cooperative enough with the cameras there, waving and smiling, no indication of our dislike of the Capitol apparent. The mockingjay headpieces at the opening ceremonies are more blatantly defiant, but those could be attributed to an overly ambitious stylist - it's not as though tributes have any say over what they are put in. Hell, even if he was questioned about it, Cinna could claim he was inspired by the pin Madge gave me as my district token, an obvious parting gift from a loved one since I was wearing it at the train station but not at the reaping.

_We_ know what effect all of this is having, but _they _don't know that we know, and that gives us an the Capitol may suspect about our motivations, we have not done anything so far that couldn't be dismissed as the simple product of our love for each other, not some deep-seated hatred of the Capitol. We will have to be careful to maintain that image, but that would be true no matter what, in order to keep our families from suffering for our actions.

So yes, Gale's right, we'd undoubtedly be more trouble to the Capitol alive than dead. "But _they don't know that_," I finally respond intensely. "And they won't, until it's too late, so long as we're careful to seem like we're just two kids in love, thinking only of each other."

Gale considers this for a moment, then nods determinedly, though his words are cautious when he speaks. "At the end, us choosing to die together - it would have to seem spontaneous … but I guess that's true no matter what, for our families' sake. And we'd have to be committed to going through with it, if they don't intervene to stop us. We might still die," he warns seriously, but he is grinning, beaming up at me with excitement and rebelliousness and pride.

"We might," I concede sincerely. "But we might not," I grin back, cocking my head slightly.

"Can't ask for much more than that," he laughs. "I don't think we should tell Haymitch what we're planning."

"Not specifics, at any rate," I agree quickly. "We just need to make sure he plays up the 'silly kids in love' angle. And that he makes sure that everyone thinks we don't know what we're doing, what effect we're having, if anyone starts to wonder. It all has to seem natural."

"Shouldn't be too hard," he smirks at me, the look in his eyes making me blush.

Even with our excitement, we have had this entire conversation in hushed tones, careful to keep our voices down so that the wind and chimes would prevent anyone from hearing us. But at the moment I can't resist letting out a loud, giddy laugh, spinning around like a little girl, actually daring to hope for the first time since this ordeal began that we might have a shot at both making it out alive. I know it won't be easy, and I know we will have to face unspeakable horrors, and I know that the odds are still not in our favour. But we have a plan and we will be in it together and maybe, just maybe, that will be enough to carry us safely through - it always has before.

Gale rises to stand in front of me, stopping me mid-spin with his hands on my hips and pulling me firmly against his body. I am already breathless as he growls against my lips, "Have I ever told you how incredible you are?"

I smile widely and fist my hands in his shirt, rolling my hips against his as I whisper seductively, "Yes. But please feel free to tell me again. Often. And loudly."

Our lips crash together in a passionate kiss, and I moan into his mouth. When we break apart we are both panting with desire.

"Come on," Gale says as he leads us back to the stairs. "Let's show those idiots on the streets what a real celebration sounds like." I laugh as I practically skip after him as we hurry to his room.

Yes, we might still die. But we might not. And we are most certainly not dead yet. For the moment, that is all the hope I need.


	13. The Harsh Light of Day

**A/N: **Thank you again to all my fabulous readers and reviewers. I think I was probably about as giddy as Katniss was at the end of the last chapter when I finished writing it, so I'm really glad you guys liked it :)

So without further ado, here's Chapter 12! It is, well, less fun. But alas, that's the reality of the Games. Please R&R!

**Disclaimer: **'The Hunger Games' does not belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 12 - The Harsh Light of Day**

Dawn is just breaking outside the window when I wake up, filling the room with a soft grey glow. Gale is still deeply asleep beside me, lying spread-eagle on his stomach with his right arm draped heavily across my hips and right leg twined in mine. There is no sound in the room except his deep breathing. In the Seam, at this time of morning the birds would have already woken up, their songs ringing brightly through the air. It is eerily quiet without them.

I feel very far away from there now. It was different on the train - on some level I could at least pretend that we could jump off and flee, or that we'd find the entrance to the Capitol blocked and have to turn around, or that some other miracle would occur to stop us from reaching our destination. But now we are captive in their city, and our only hope of escape is to beat them at their own game.

Last night that seemed so possible, but my exuberance has evaporated in the growing light of morning, leaving me with nothing but a grim resolve and increasing sense of trepidation. Everything feels much more real now. Training begins today, and for the first time we will have to face the other tributes, stand in the same room as the people who will try their very best to kill us, just as we will have to do our best to kill them. Our strategy will stop being some abstract concept and unintentional gestures of defiance, and instead become a series of concrete actions, each one leading us further down this road, past the point of no return. Every decision will become more complicated; every action will have layers of meaning we must consider; every misstep will come with more dangerous consequences.

It would be so much simpler if Gale wasn't here with me, even though in many ways it would be so much harder. I would only have my fate to worry about, not Gale's and Prim's and my mother's and Gale's family and all the rest of the districts'. I could focus on nothing but surviving, doing whatever was necessary to get out of the Arena and back home to the people I love. And even if I didn't, I could die knowing they were safe.

Well, as safe as anyone can ever be under the Capitol's rule. Which, of course, is never very safe at all.

Isn't that why I agreed to this whole mad scheme to begin with? I wish that I felt the same unrelenting rage towards the Capitol that Gale does, to keep my conviction strong even when the fear and anxiety make me waver. But it's better that I don't - one of us needs to keep a cooler head in all this, and when it comes to matters relating to the Capitol, that role usually falls to me. Not that I mind - that fact that we work together so seamlessly, that we complement each other so perfectly is the only reason I can even dare to hope we might be able to pull off everything that we're attempting - survive the Games together, spark a revolution without appearing like we meant to, and keep our families safe in the process.

I stare out the window for a while, wondering what Prim and my mother are doing. It would have been light for a few hours already in District 12. Prim should be at school by now. My mother might be in town getting supplies from the apothecary, or maybe treating a patient on our kitchen table - assuming she's kept her promise and hasn't disappeared inside herself again. It seems impossible that it's been less than two full days since the reaping. It feels like a lifetime ago. I wonder if it feels that way to them too.

I realize the room has been getting steadily lighter and I look around for some indication of the time, remembering Haymitch's instruction to meet him for breakfast no later than 8. I find a clock on a low table on Gale's side of the bed. 7:32 AM. No putting off getting out of bed then.

I manage to wake up Gale and, after a great deal of unhappy grumbling, convince him that we shouldn't piss off Haymitch by showing up late to breakfast (though he only gets out of bed when I promise that if Haymitch is still passed out somewhere when we show up, I won't try to stop him from finding Haymitch's room and dumping a plate of eggs on his head).

We shower quickly and emerge to find matching outfits laid out for us on the two armchairs near the door to the room. I'm briefly creeped out by the idea of someone being in the room while we were showering (or possibly sleeping, I can't be sure when exactly they were put there), but I realize I should probably be used to invasions of our privacy. In a few days we won't even have any privacy left to invade.

The outfits consist of a long-sleeved burgundy tunic, slim-fitting black pants, and soft black leather boots, similar to the ones we wore in the opening ceremonies but less flashy. The tunic and pants seem to be made of the same material; a soft, flexible fabric that doesn't impede my natural range of motion when I put them on.

I braid my hair into its usual style and regard my reflection in the bathroom mirror for a moment. I look like myself, not the fiery goddess Cinna dressed me up as last night, and I use that to ground myself, remembering my promise to Prim. _I am still me. I won't let them take that away. No matter what. I won't let them beat me._

I nod at my image determinedly, and march out of the bathroom, hoping that I'm ready for whatever this day may bring.

* * *

Luckily for Haymitch, he is sitting at the table when we round the corner to the dining room. Gale looks mildly disappointed that he won't get to inflict his eggy revenge, still irritated at Haymitch for blowing us off last night since, I realize, I never did tell him that Haymitch had done that to keep Effie from overhearing his plans for us.

"Be nice," I mutter to him below my breath as we fill our plates from the long buffet that's been set up for breakfast.

He grimaces, but responds, "I'll try." I roll my eyes, but know that this is the best I'm going to get out of him, so I don't say anything more.

We sit beside each other, across from Haymitch, and eat our meals in silence. When Haymitch finishes, he pulls out a flask and takes a long drink, then leans forward to address us. "Alright, let's get down to business. I want you two to train together; I'm assuming that's fine with you?"

We nod, so Haymitch continues, "Good. Stick together in the Training Center, we want everyone to see you as unbreakable. There'll be different stations in there - stay away from the ones you're already good at: archery, snares, _knives_." He says the last with a contemptuous smirk, the incident at breakfast yesterday clearly not forgotten yet. "Don't let the other tributes know what your strengths are; save it for the Gamemakers in your private sessions. I can't guarantee there'll be a bow and arrow in the Arena, but if you impress them, there should be. Learn something new - throw a spear, swing a mace. Make sure you spend some time in hand-to-hand combat. I want you both to be able to handle yourself in a fight."

He hesitates then, choosing his words carefully before going on: "As much as you can, be friendly but distant with the non-Career tributes. But don't make any alliances, that'll only complicate things for you two later." I frown, thinking of the girl from 11, but don't object. We agreed Haymitch doesn't need to know what we're planning.

"Friendly?" Gales asks skeptically.

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Nice. Pleasant. Not openly hostile. I'm sure the concept is familiar to you, even if you two aren't exactly going to be winning any personality contests."

Gale mutters snidely, "Pot meet kettle," and I snicker.

"That! Right there! Do the opposite of _that_," Haymitch barks, earning twin scowls from us. "That too!" he adds, jabbing a finger in our direction.

"Why should we?" I ask petulantly.

"Because I said so!" he yells. We stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

Haymitch pulls the flask out again and takes another deep drink, grumbling to himself about _"the shit I have to put up with." _I guess he eventually decides this will be easier if he gives us an actual answer, since he says: "Because you want them to think twice about going after you, but not think too much about why they feel that way," he replies slowly, as though he's speaking to especially dumb children.

"Why?" Gale repeats, clearly confused. "What difference does it make?"

When Haymitch responds, his words are laced with hidden meaning. "It'll be … better for you if you can avoid getting into it with the regulars. Save it for the Careers."

The advice sounds perfectly innocent, a mentor suggesting his tributes save their strength for the more difficult targets. But what he really means is that it will help preserve our images with the districts who are more likely to revolt. If we can keep our hands clean of their tributes' deaths, they'll be more inclined to sympathize with us and respond to our actions the way we want.

It makes sense and Gale actually looks impressed that Haymitch offered something useful. "Okay," I agree, for both us.

"The Careers are going to be more difficult," Haymitch muses. "The problem you have right now is that they don't respect you, especially loverboy here." Gale glowers at Haymitch, not at all pleased with the return of that nickname.

"Why?" I hiss in irritation.

"You both seem soft to them. The only the only things they value are power and brutality. Your relationship is a weakness as far as they're concerned." Haymitch answers, and although the smirk never leaves his face, his tone is not entirely unkind.

"But that's bullshit!" I blurt out. Gale looks briefly in my direction, amused - I rarely swear.

"That's life, sweetheart," Haymitch smarms. I glare back at him.

"Well didn't you just tell us that we don't want them to know what our strengths are? Doesn't that mean we should _want_ them to think we're weak?" Gale argues, his expression one of intense frustration.

Haymitch shakes his head, exasperated. "You want them to underestimate you, yes, but still be wary of you. If you don't toughen up your images, they'll go after you first, because they'll think you're easy targets and don't want you to hog all the attention and all the sponsors with the novelty of your star-crossed-lovers bit. You don't want to face them right off the bat. They're at least as strong as you are, and there's more of them. Let them weaken themselves dealing with the others first."

It is annoyingly hard to refute his logic. "Fine," I grumble, "so what do you suggest we do? We're not allowed to fight them before we get into the Arena."

He shrugs. "Not officially, no. Look don't do anything today, we'll see how it goes. I'm guessing they'll try to start something with you sooner or later, to test you. Don't back down if they do. We'll leave it at that for now. If I think you need to do more tomorrow, I'll let you know."

It's not exactly the most enlightening suggestion he's offered, but I guess they can't all be winners.

Haymitch takes our silence as acceptance. "Meet Effie at the elevator at 10, she'll take you down. You're on your own until then," he finishes, turning back to his flask. Apparently we are dismissed.

Gale rolls his eyes but stands up, holding out a hand to me. I slip my hand in his and rise, letting him lead me out of the dining room. We still have more than an hour until we need to meet Effie, and he starts to head towards our rooms, but I stop him by tugging on his hand lightly. He turns to look at me questioningly.

"I was thinking I could use some fresh air," I say, inclining my head in the direction of the roof access.

* * *

When we reach the top, we take a quick look around to make sure we are alone before returning to the same bench from last night. Once again Gale sits astride it, and this time I sit between his legs, my back pressed against his chest, our arms twined together around my torso. I lean my head back against his shoulder and he rests his chin on top of it.

For a while we sit silently, thinking over everything Haymitch said. I find myself stuck on his warning against making alliances - _"that'll only complicate things for you two later." _I guess I see his point - an alliance can help you get further, but sooner or later it has to turn on itself. And since we need to avoid being responsible for the deaths of any non-Career tributes if at all possible, it makes sense to avoid any entanglements with them, period. But I can't help thinking of the girl from 11, who reminds me so much of Prim - how could I not help her? And I wouldn't have to turn on her, since Gale and I are planning to kill ourselves anyway.

_Except we're not anymore._

Suddenly I realize what it is that's bothering me so much. We said we would try to help someone else get to the end; to win when we die. But that was before I realized that the Capitol would quite possibly have to allow us both to live; if we were the last tributes left and our deaths would mean no Victor at all. But if we were the last _three_ left and still working together, we would have to kill the girl ourselves to even attempt that. If we tried to save our own lives, it would undo everything we could have accomplished, even if we succeed in having both of us survive. The Capitol will have won after all.

In my excitement last night, I completely overlooked this extremely important fact. I bolt upright and turn to face Gale, startling the hell out of him in the process.

"The girl from 11, if she stays with us until the end, we'll have to kill her if we want the chance to try to save ourselves. It'd be a disaster!" I say in a rush, visibly upset.

Gale stiffens, but keeps his expression carefully neutral. I narrow my eyes at him. "You already thought of this, didn't you?" I demand.

He hesitates before replying levelly, "It … had occurred to me, yes."

"Well what are we going to do if that's what it comes down to?"

Again he pauses, thinking his response through before answering. He exhales loudly and pulls his left hand through his hair in agitation. Finally he looks me directly in the eye. "Look Catnip, I understand why you want to help her, I do. And you know I don't think it's fair that she could even have been reaped. But the reality is that it's her life or ours. And I choose ours."

"So you'd kill her if we were the only three left?" I ask angrily.

I can see he is trying to be patient with me, but his aggravation is starting to peek through. "I would hope it wouldn't come to that," he responds coolly.

"You mean you'd hope someone else would have already done the dirty work for you!" I hiss, furious. I know I'm being irrational, but I can't seem to let this go. She shouldn't have to die. None of us should have to die.

"That's the Games Katniss!" Gale erupts. "Those are the rules, and there's nothing we can do to change it in time to stop what's going to happen, what _has_ to happen in there. It's kill or be killed, and if you weren't prepared to do whatever it takes to come out on the right side of that equation, then you should have kept your damn mouth shut and let Prim come here like she was supposed to!"

I react instinctively, not even realizing I've moved until I feel the sharp sting of Gale's flesh against my palm, the loud *_smack_* echoing over the roof as I slap him hard across the face.

I'm immediately horrified at myself, all the anger draining out of me. He's right, I know he's right, I just hate what he's right _about. _But it's not his fault we're in this awful situation.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper tearfully, burying my face in my hands, unable to stop the sobs suddenly wracking my body.

Gale wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest and rubbing my back comfortingly. "Shhh, Catnip, it's okay, I deserved that. I shouldn't have … it was a terrible thing to say, and I'm sorry."

He leans back, cupping my face in his palm and tilting my face up to meet his eyes so that I can see how sincere he is. I sniffle and nod, angling my face to place a soft kiss on the inside of his wrist. He brushes my tears away gently with his thumb. The tenderness with which he is looking at me makes me want to start sobbing all over again, but I force myself to breathe deeply and regain control. We don't have much time until we'll have to leave for training, and crying sure won't do anything to 'toughen up' my image.

"I just hate this all so much," I mutter pathetically, burying my face in his chest again, though at least the tears have stopped now.

"I know, Catnip, I do too," Gale murmurs into my hair. "But we can't fight with each other, not now."

I nod vigorously, and lift my head to look at him. "I know. I know. And I choose our lives too, I do, I swear. But I don't have to like everything that comes with that choice."

"I'd never expect you to," Gale promises. Then he sighs heavily before looking at me with determination. "Listen, we can make all the plans we want now, but in the Arena the only things that we can count on are our instincts and each other. We know our general strategy and what we want to accomplish, and we'll just have to figure out the specifics as we go. That's all that we can do." He's right again.

"I love you," I whisper, my eyes bright, and he smiles, kissing me sweetly.

"I love you too," he answers quietly.

I can't believe we've only been up for a couple hours - this day feels like it's gone on for ages already. I wonder how much longer we have until we have to meet Effie, when suddenly a loud *_clang*_ rings out across the roof.

We look in the direction of the dome and see Effie standing there propping the door open and scanning the roof for us, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun.

"Uh-oh, it's the Punctuality Police," Gale mutters sarcastically, and I grin despite myself. We stand up and begin to walk towards her.

As soon as she spots us, Effie starts shrieking indignantly about the importance of being on time, keeping up a steady stream of outrage as she leads us down the stairs, through the suite and into the elevator. At one point she asks if we've ever heard of watches and only fumes harder when we shoot each other exaggerated looks of confusion.

I find myself oddly grateful for the existence of Effie Trinket - if nothing else, her endless exasperation with us is always good for a quick pick-me-up. I smile to myself thinking about how much more it would irritate her to know that, and finally feel somewhat ready to deal with the rest of this day.

* * *

_A/N: So I know at least some of you were probably hoping we'd get to see Gale and Katniss' "celebration" after the last chapter. Unfortunately that just wasn't the direction that felt right to me for this one. However, I totally paid for that decision when the smut bunnies completely hijacked Chapter 14 (by my numbering, not FF's) from me. So to anyone who's disappointed that we skipped ahead to the following morning - I'll be making it up to you soon, I promise!_


	14. Playing with Fire

**A/N**: As always, big, big, BIG thanks to everyone reading and reviewing this story. I say it every time, and every time I only mean it more :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own 'The Hunger Games'.

* * *

**Chapter 13 - Playing with Fire**

We are indeed the last to arrive at the training rooms, a massive gymnasium one floor above the area our chariots entered last night. There are a number of different stations set up around the room, with a wide array of weaponry, obstacle courses, and other survival gear. The other tributes are standing in a tense circle just inside the entrance, their districts indicated by a cloth square pinned to the back of their shirts with their number printed on it. As one of the assistants pins the number 12 on our backs, I note that Gale and I are, unsurprisingly, the only two dressed alike.

All eyes are on us we approach the circle. Some of the tributes merely look curious; a few have traces of pity in their expressions; a couple look jealous, no doubt due to the splash we made with our fiery costumes last night. The Careers appear to be sizing us up already, and I can see that Haymitch is right - they don't think much of us. Gale's strong hunter's build gives them reason to be somewhat wary of him, but it's obvious that they immediately discount me as any sort of threat.

The head trainer, a tall, athletic woman who introduces herself as 'Atala,' addresses the circle once we have joined it. She explains that experts will remain at each station, and we are free to spend as much or as little time at each as we please, per our mentors' instructions. Since fighting between tributes is forbidden until we are in the Arena, assistants will be on hand if we wish to practice with a partner. She encourages us to spend time at the survival stations as well as the combat ones, noting that nearly half of us will likely die from natural causes - starvation, exposure, dehydration and so on. I sneer at the suggestion that anything about our impending deaths could be considered 'natural.'

Atala dismisses us and the Careers head immediately to the stations with the deadliest weapons, handling them all with ease. Per Haymitch's orders, Gale and I spend most of the morning in hand-to-hand combat. Gale's strength and natural grace enable him to master the moves they show us with ease, and I notice the Careers glancing appraisingly in his direction from time-to-time. I don't have the same brute power that he does, but the instructor shows me how to use my small size and speed to my advantage in a fight. It's still unlikely that I could overpower anyone, but I feel confident that with a weapon I'd have a good shot at taking someone down or at least be able to hold them off long enough to escape.

The Gamemakers arrived early in the morning, 20 or so men and women dressed in dark purple robes. They mostly sit in the elevated stands that ring the gymnasium, but sometimes rise to walk around and observe the tributes more closely, or to eat from the bountiful buffet that has been set out for them. They seem to be keeping an extra close eye on Gale and myself, and although I do my best to ignore them, I find their calculating gazes unnerving.

When we begin to tire from our exertions in hand-to-hand, we move on to the fire-making station, and then it's time for lunch. Breakfast and dinner are served on our floors, but all the tributes eat lunch in the same place, a small cafeteria off of the gymnasium. The food is set up on carts around the room and everyone serves themselves. Gale and I pile our plates high with protein-rich meals, wanting to build as much strength as possible over the next few days.

The Careers all sit together at one table in the centre of the room, talking loudly amongst themselves and ignoring the rest of us, as if to demonstrate how insignificant we are to them. Most of the other tributes sit alone, looking lost and a bit scared. Despite Haymitch's instruction to be friendly to the others, neither Gale nor I have the slightest clue where to start with that task, so we choose a table by ourselves. We sit side-by-side, conversing quietly about home, speculating about how are mothers are holding up; how Rory is handling the Hob by himself. When we finish eating, Gale drapes his arm across the back of my chair and I turn to place my legs on his lap.

We are discussing what station we want to try first after lunch when a shadow falls over our table. We both tense when we look up to see the Careers standing before us, the ox-like boy from 2 standing at the centre of the loose v-formation they are making. They don't even appear to see me, all staring directly at Gale. Except the District 1 boy, who I realize is eyeing me in a way that makes me distinctly uncomfortable.

"I'm Cato," the District 2 boy introduces himself. When neither of us respond, he continues, addressing Gale alone, "We've been watching you. You're a lot stronger that the District 12 tributes usually are."

If he is trying to flatter Gale, it doesn't work. "What do you want?" he asks flatly, his eyes and voice cold and indifferent.

"We'd like to make you an offer." Cato smiles, but there is no warmth in it.

"Not interested," Gale replies dismissively.

Cato does not appear phased by this. "You should be. We want you to join us. Just you. We're not interested in carrying around dead weight," he says, finally acknowledging me with a vicious sneer. "You'd be better protected and well-fed. Of course, when we've taken out all the trash," again he glances at me and I narrow my eyes angrily at him, "it'll be every man for himself. But it's a better shot than you'll have dragging _her_ along."

Gale rises slowly, bringing himself to his full height, every inch of his body radiating fury and menace. I scramble to my feet after him, far less gracefully than he did, and glower as hard as I can to make up for my awkward movements. It doesn't seem to work - by the scornful look Cato briefly directs my way I suspect I look more ridiculous than threatening.

"I want you to listen to me _very carefully_, because I will not have this conversation again," Gale starts, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't like you. I don't like who you are. I don't like where you come from. I don't like what you stand for or how you play the game. And I sure as hell don't like the way that _asshole_," he points forcefully at the boy from 1, his voice rising in anger, "is looking at _my girlfriend_. So you, and your merry band of psychopaths, can take your offer and shove it up your asses, because I'm. _Not. _Interested." He glares at Cato, clearly indicating that there is no room for argument.

Cato narrows his eyes, livid. The entire room has been watching this exchange, likely from the moment they first approached us. This rejection has been humiliating for them. "Fine," he growls, "it'll be your funeral."

"I wouldn't count on that," I intone threateningly, my face a hard mask of deadly intent. Cato sneers at me, but actually appears to take me seriously for the first time. Gale and I remain standing, holding our ground, staring icily at the Careers as they stalk off in anger.

The other tributes are regarding us with a mixture of amazement and admiration. I smile genuinely as I realize that this scene has had the dual effects of pissing off the Careers and endearing us to the regulars. Haymitch will be so pleased.

After lunch Gale and I make an effort to move around to more stations, deliberately choosing ones with other tributes already at them. The incident with the Careers has made for a great ice-breaker and we chat casually with anyone willing to do so. After a while I notice that we seem to have picked up a shadow. The girl from 11 - Rue, I learn when she finally introduces herself at the plants and berries station - has been trailing us around the room. It doesn't take any effort for me to be nice to her. She turns out to be as good as I am with the plants, can climb so swiftly and effortlessly she looks like a bird flitting up into the air, and has extremely good aim with a slingshot. In-person she reminds me even more of Prim than she did in the reaping, and I can feel myself growing far more attached to her than I should. Gale is unerringly kind to her as well and she warms to him quickly - he's always been good with kids. But I catch him looking at me with concern more than once, thinking about our argument this morning no doubt.

When we return to our floor that evening, I can tell by the fact that Haymitch actually greets us with a smile that he must have heard about our exchange with the Careers at lunch. Still, he makes us tell him the whole story over dinner with him and Effie, along with everything else that happened during the day. Effie looks unhappy when we describe our interactions with the other tributes in the afternoon, clearly wondering why we would be bothering to make nice with them. Haymitch waves off her concerns, giving a vague response about there being a purpose to everything, and she drops it, if somewhat reluctantly.

"You two did good today," Haymitch compliments us at the end of the meal. "Don't screw it up," he adds churlishly, and I roll my eyes tiredly. All of the physical activity today has worn me out, and the heavy meal in my stomach is making me sleepy. Gale looks like he feels about the same, and Haymitch must notice us fading, because he commands, "Go get some sleep." He looks at us sternly. "_Sleep_. I didn't say go to _bed_, I said go to _sleep_."

I flush and Gale glowers at him, but we nod and say our goodnights, retreating to Gale's room. Our exhaustion fades once we are alone, the knowledge that we only have a couple more nights together before the Arena weighing on both of us as we melt together. I figure we've followed enough of Haymitch's instructions for one day anyway.

* * *

Training the next morning is fairly uneventful. Gale and I hit all the stations we missed the day before, except for archery and snares. I turn out to be pretty good with throwing a spear, at least over short distances, and Gale wields a sword as well as if he'd been doing it all his life. I still hope that there will be a bow and arrow in the Arena, but even if there's not, I know we'll still be effective.

The Careers have been glaring at us whenever we happen to look their way. They've spent the entire morning at hand-to-hand combat, going at the assistants with brutal aggression. The display is obviously meant to intimidate us, and anyone else that might dare to question their strength after what happened yesterday.

Rue sits with Gale and I at lunch, as does the male tribute from 11, Thresh, much to my surprise. He doesn't say much other than to introduce himself, but he seems protective of Rue and I'm relieved to think that she might have someone else looking out for her.

Gale and I leave lunch as early they'll let us and make a beeline for the hand-to-hand combat station to get there before the Careers can. They look displeased when they enter and see us already there, but head as a pack to the sword-fighting station instead.

After a couple of hours, I decide I want to visit the archery station. The bows are a beautiful silver colour, some made of metal, others a hard plastic. I'm used to my well-broken-in wooden bows back home and want to get a feel for how these ones handle before my private session with the Gamemakers. I can pretend to shoot poorly for now to keep my skill a secret from the other tributes, like Haymitch wants. But I don't want to risk screwing up when it counts because I'm not accustomed to the bows here.

"I think I'd like to give archery a try," I tell Gale casually as we wrap up at the combat station.

He wrinkles his brow in confusion, but simply agrees, "Alright. Let's give it a shot." He winks at me, and I roll my eyes.

"So clever," I mutter sarcastically, but smiling a bit despite myself.

"I try," he replies, faux-humbly.

I select a bow from the rack and string it, grabbing the matching quiver before approaching the row of target dummies lined up at the station. I place the quiver on the floor beside me rather than on my back, the better to look like I don't know what I'm doing. I take aim with my first arrow and fire, immediately glad that I decided to practice here when I realize that the string is tighter and the arrow stiffer than what I'm used to. My shot goes wide, the arrow landing low in the wall to the right of the dummy I was aiming at.

I fire several more shots, getting more comfortable with the bow. But I do my best to appear as if I'm trying for the heart and missing and getting frustrated with the task.

I'm lining up the last arrow in the quiver when a pair of unfamiliar arms clamps around me, hands closing over mine where they are holding the bow and string. The body they belong to is pressed against my back and I don't have to look to know that it is the boy from District 1. Marvel, I think I heard someone say is his name.

I freeze momentarily in shock as he whispers against my ear, "You know, you should try correcting a little to the left."

"Get your hands off of me," I hiss, amazed that they're actually still attached to his body - I'd have thought Gale would have removed them the second he touched me. But with a quick glance out of the corner of my eye, I see that Gale is no longer standing to my right as he had been.

"Loverboy's not here to protect you," he purrs. "I wonder how you'll do without him, once Cato's ripped his head off his body." My heart is racing in fear and anger - mostly anger. I can't believe none of the supervisors have pulled him off me yet.

"Let. Me. Go." I demand, more insistent this time.

"Now, now," he murmurs. "I just want to see what all the fuss over you is about. And since it's clearly not your looks, and doesn't seem to be your winning personality, I can only assume it requires … physical contact to get it."

Now I'm well and truly furious. "You want physical contact?" I growl menacingly, then I stomp, _hard_, on his right instep with the heel of my boot. He yelps, and the hand that had been covering my left one on the bow drops. I elbow him viciously in the stomach with my freed arm, and he doubles over in pain. I take advantage of his momentum to drop my right shoulder forward, grabbing his arm with my left hand and flipping him clean over me. He lands hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him, and his head bounces off the floor with a gratifying *_thunk_*.

I whirl to face him, pinning him to the ground by placing my foot firmly on the centre of his chest. He is obviously stunned, whether out of surprise that I was able to take him down so efficiently or from the blow to the head when he landed, I'm not sure. Both, possibly. I aim my bow squarely at his face, sneering, "Was it good for you too?" He gapes at me in shock as I smirk at him, immensely pleased with myself.

My head snaps up when I hear Gale's voice ring out angrily across the room, "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" I see him about 100 feet away from me, standing toe-to-toe with Cato, both glaring viciously at each other. I missed whatever happened to bring him there, busy dealing with my own Career problems. But Rue is standing a few feet behind him looking shaken and I have some idea of what it might have been.

"What are you going to do it about it, Casanova?" Cato sneers. The entire gymnasium has fallen silent, everyone frozen in place with their attention locked on the two of them.

After a long moment, Gale gives a short humourless chuckle and looks down, starting to turn away from Cato. Cato thinks he was won this battle and smirks victoriously for a split-second. But I know when Gale is feinting, and sure enough as soon as Cato's stance relaxes, Gale attacks. His left elbow flies up, catching Cato in the mouth and making his head snap back. Before Cato has a chance to recover, Gale hits him hard across the face with a right-hook and propels Cato around, dropping him with a knee to his lower back. Just as I did to Marvel, Gale pins Cato to the floor with a foot on his chest.

Gale grins mockingly at Cato for a beat then looks up as though he senses me watching him. His eyes widen in surprise when he takes in my identical stance and the bow I realize I'm still aiming at Marvel's face. He inclines his head questioningly, and all I can do is shrug casually in response. After a pause, he shakes his head and begins to laugh, and I can't help but crack-up along with him.

The sound finally breaks everyone out of their stunned paralysis and the gymnasium erupts in a flurry of noise and movement. Trainers rush at each of us and we step away from our felled attackers willingly, allowing the trainers to herd us out of the room to the elevators.

As soon as the doors close behind us Gale whirls on me, still high on adrenaline, pressing me against the wall of the elevator and kissing me breathless. "Are you okay? What did that son of a bitch do to you?" he asks, breathing hard when we break apart.

"I'm fine," I assure him. "It doesn't matter what he did. He won't be stupid enough to try it again."

Gale smiles proudly at me, "Yeah, it seems like you made damn sure of that."

The elevator door slides open on the 12th floor and we find ourselves face-to-face with Effie and Haymitch. Word of what happened has obviously already reached them - Haymitch looks nearly psychotic with glee, while Effie looks like she might just murder us herself.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she snaps as soon as we step off the elevator.

"They started it!" Gale and I yelp simultaneously, causing us both to burst out laughing again.

"This isn't funny!" Effie shrieks. "Fighting between tributes before the Games is strictly forbidden. Do you have any idea what they could do to you?"

We sober up, the possibility of being punished having slipped our minds in all the excitement. But then Haymitch pipes up, "Oh relax, they're not going to do anything to them."

Effie turns her outrage towards Haymitch. "_Are you out of your mind? _You had some hand in this, didn't you? How could you possibly think they wouldn't be punished for this?" she demands indignantly.

Haymitch rolls his eyes, and addresses only the last question. "All they've done is guarantee the people'll get a good show this year. Everyone's already fascinated by the star-crossed lovers from District 12, and they've just shown that they aren't afraid to go head-to-head with the big boys. Punishing them would only take away from the potential excitement in the Games."

"Our thoughts exactly," Gale agrees smugly, just to irritate Effie. Haymitch looks exasperated as Effie shoots Gale a withering glare.

"I don't why I even bother with you two," she hisses in aggravation.

I have no idea what possesses me to respond to this, but I do. "Because we're the most interesting thing to happen to the Games in years?" I offer innocently.

"Because for once people will actually be paying attention to District 12?" Gale puts in helpfully.

"Because you're a control freak who would sooner set her entire collection of ridiculously overpriced wigs on fire than do anything less than your very best?" Haymitch suggests, taking the opportunity to get in a shot while he can.

"Because if you _didn't_, then you wouldn't get to take any credit for _our _success, and you couldn't bear to miss the chance to bask in our reflected glory?" I finish evenly.

"I think that about covers it," Gale muses coolly.

Effie's expression has shifted from one of outrage to something I cannot even begin to decipher. She considers us thoughtfully for a moment. "Is that what you think of me?" she asks, her tone as inscrutable as her gaze.

"I can't imagine it matters to you what _we_ think," Gale responds dispassionately.

The tension mounts in the room as they regard each other. Finally, Effie says cryptically, "No, I suppose you couldn't." She begins to walk down the hall to the left of the elevator, where I assume her and Haymitch's rooms are located. After a few steps she stops and half-turns back to us to add, "As much as you might like to think you do, you don't know everything."

Then she turns a corner and disappears from view, leaving us three standing here in surprised silence, pondering the many mysteries of Effie Trinket.

After a beat, Haymitch tells us to forget about dinner and just order something in our rooms. He gives us some quick advice for our private sessions tomorrow - "Play to your strengths, be respectful, and do something flashy if you can - shoot out a light, set something on fire, whatever. The Gamemakers love a good show." - and then dismisses us.

Gale and I order a thick lamb stew (that may be the most delicious thing I've ever eaten, even more so than the hot chocolate on the train, I decide once I've tasted it), thick steaks with roast vegetables, a platter of cheese and fruits, and a small bottle of the white wine we had on the first night here. We take our haul up to the roof to eat in the garden.

Thanks to our early dismissal from training, it's still light outside when we get up there. As we eat, the sun sets in a fiery blaze of red and orange, the colours reflecting off the shiny glass of the Capitol's buildings. The whole city appears as though it has been set aflame. It feels like an omen, though whether of good or bad things to come for us, I cannot say.


	15. Dancing in the Dark

**A/N:** I'm so glad everyone enjoyed Kick-ass!Galeniss in the last chapter. I promise we'll be seeing lots more of them J

Hey, so did you guys remember that this story is rated M? Because it definitely is. I just thought I should mention that now ;) Happy weekend everyone!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. 'The Hunger Games' is Suzanne Collins'. 'Dancing in the Dark' and associated lyrics belong to Bruce Springsteen.

* * *

**Chapter 14 - Dancing in the Dark**

_~You can't start a fire, can't start a fire without a spark~_

When we arrive at training the following morning, it's apparent that Haymitch was right - we aren't going to be punished for the altercations with the Careers yesterday. The only effect seems to be the instruction from Atala that we are to remain at separate stations at all times, and if we want to practice at one that they are currently at, or vice versa, we are to speak to the trainers and they'll try to arrange something. It turns out not to be an issue - the Careers stick to the heavy weaponry stations, while we split our time in the morning between hand-to-hand combat and snares. Gale wants to test out some ideas he has for his private session, but follows my strategy with the bows from yesterday, deliberately making the occasional mistake so his skill won't be revealed. Since my snares aren't as good as his, I pay close attention to the instructor and manage to learn a few new things.

Today at lunch all of us non-Career tributes actually sit together, a signal to the Careers that we will not be cowed by them. The trainer who's in charge of collecting us for our sessions just about falls over in shock when she first sees us all sitting together - evidently this is highly unusual behaviour. It isn't long before Rue has the whole table captivated, chatting brightly about her sisters and their adventures in the orchards in which they all worked in District 11. Even Thresh can't help but crack the occasional smile listening to her - it's a very odd look on him. My heart aches listening to her, even as a I smile along with everyone else. I can't help thinking of how much I miss Prim; of how glad I am that she's not here; of how awful it is that this sweet little girl is going to have to go up against monsters like Cato.

The private sessions take place that afternoon, starting during lunch. One-by-one we are summoned from the cafeteria in order of our district numbers; first the boy, then the girl from each. No one returns once they've left, and the room gradually empties. For once I'm actually glad that Districts 1 and 2 always get to go first for everything - Cato and Marvel have been glowering at us menacingly all throughout lunch, and while it isn't particularly intimidating, it was getting pretty annoying.

Finally Rue is called, leaving only Gale and I in the room. "What are you planning to do?" I ask quietly as he takes my hand in his, stroking his thumb lightly over my knuckles.

"Oh you know," he shrugs, "fireworks, feats of strength, et cetera, et cetera." Whatever it is, he doesn't want me to know about it, and that makes me extremely nervous. What if he does something reckless, to provoke the Gamemakers? He wouldn't be that foolish, would he?

"Promise me," I start nervously, then pause, as I remember where we are, "promise me you'll remember what Haymitch said - 'Play to your strengths. _Be respectful_.'" I emphasize the latter, looking him straight in the eye to make my point clear.

He frowns. "Don't worry Catnip. I know what I'm doing."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I mutter and he chuckles, kissing me lightly.

"I promise I'll be on my best behaviour, okay?" he smiles, and I nod.

"Thank you," I whisper, and he kisses me again, slowly this time, his mouth lingering against mine.

The door opens once more and Gale is summoned. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, then rises. I call out after him, "Good luck!"

He turns, and grins at me. "Shoot straight Catnip. See you on the other side."

The door closes behind him and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

After awhile I realize that Gale's session seems to be lasting longer than most of the others'. I'm not too concerned by this - he's probably building some elaborate trap and that takes time. Still, I hope he's kept his promise and hasn't done anything stupid. I know how hard it will be for him to act like he actually _wants_ to impress the Gamemakers - like he'd care at all what anyone from the Capitol thinks of him - but there is a lot more on the line here than his pride: our ratings in the Games, our shot at surviving, our families' safety, the revolution we are hoping to start. For now his disdain for the Capitol will have to take a backseat to all that.

About half an hour passes before the trainer returns one last time to call me in for my session. It occurs to me that I may be at a distinct disadvantage, being the last to go. The Gamemakers have been here for hours now; have already watched 23 other tributes present themselves. At least some of them must be bored, or tired. Probably they've had an unlimited supply of food and wine, both of which take their toll on one's alertness. Even assuming Gale hasn't done something to piss them off, I may have a tough time getting their attention at all.

When I walk into the room, I realize I needn't have worried, as all the Gamemakers are watching me eagerly. Fortunately they don't look angry, and I'm able to relax a bit, my fears about Gale's session dissipating. I guess that between the events at the reaping, our fiery debut during the opening ceremonies, and the way we took down the Careers yesterday, I have earned their undivided attention. Of course, now I must do something to live-up to their expectations.

I move quickly through the room, first setting up a series of dummies in a semi-circle in front of the area where the Gamemakers are seated. Then I grab a bow and a quiver of arrows with bright red feathers at their ends from the racks at the archery station. I stop by the knife-throwing area and strap two medium-length throwing daggers to my legs, one on each ankle. Finally, I swing by the fire-making station and surreptitiously pocket a small object, before returning to stand in the middle of the dummy line-up.

I start by firing arrows straight into the hearts of the dummies on either end of the line-up, first the one to my left, then the right. I swing back to shoot another arrow in the heart of the second one from the left, then shoulder-roll to the right, coming up with one of the knives as I do and flinging it directly into the neck of the second dummy on that side. I whirl back to my left, loading my bow as I turn, and hit the third, fourth, and fifth dummies on that side in quick succession. I duck swiftly to retrieve the second knife, and hurl it viciously to my right, hitting my intended target squarely in its face without even looking at it. I hear the Gamemakers _oooh _in appreciation at that. I drop flat to my stomach and roll smoothly onto my back, firing arrows from the floor into the hearts of the remaining two dummies on the right side. Now there is only one left, at the top of the circle. But I ignore it for the moment, shooting instead at one of the overhead lights and shattering it, causing a shower of sparks to fall from the ceiling.

While the Gamemakers are distracted, I return gracefully to my feet and slyly remove the object I had taken from the fire-making station. It is about the size of a pea, and to the untrained eye would appear to be just a small rock. It's called a 'firestone' - on impact with an object it will explode into flames. When we told Haymitch about them, he indicated that it was pretty rare to actually find them in the Cornucopia at the start of the Games, but that the richer sponsors often send them as gifts to their preferred tributes. They're expensive because the fire they create doesn't smoke and can use anything except pure metal as a source of fuel - rocks, sand, even water if you could throw it hard enough to make it detonate when it hits the surface.

I place the one I have now carefully between the shaft and the top point of the arrowhead of my last arrow. When I'm sure that it's secure, I stalk back to my original starting position and turn to the centre dummy. I aim for the head this time, pulling back and letting the arrow fly.

I hit the dummy squarely between the eyes. The firestone explodes when the arrow embeds itself, engulfing the dummy's head in flames.

The Gamemakers applaud wildly at this, and I face them, bowing slightly before marching out of the room.

* * *

I return to our floor to find everyone gathered on the couches in the common area, even Cinna and Portia. I wave as I pass them, wanting to head to my rarely-used room first to change out of the training outfit. I slip on the black pants I've come to prefer and a light blue t-shirt, then tug my hair out of its braid before heading back out to join the others.

Gale slides over on the couch he's sharing with Cinna to make room for me between them. I settle next to him, his arm around my shoulders and look around at the others. Haymitch looks faintly amused, sitting next to Portia on the couch perpendicular to ours. Effie is sitting slightly removed from the rest of us in a chair by the window, apparently still sore about what happened last night. Cinna and Portia both smile warmly at me when I look their way.

"So how'd it go?" Haymitch asks me.

"Fine, I think," I reply. I explain what I did, and Haymitch looks especially impressed when I tell him about the firestone-arrow I created for my finale.

"They must have loved that," he muses, and I nod. "It's flashy and it shows you're clever. Good work." For once the praise doesn't come with any snide remarks or derisive smirks, and I thank him genuinely. Even Effie looks somewhat less stern, probably pleased that we didn't do anything to ruin all of her hard work on our behalf.

"What did you end up doing?" I ask, turning to look up at Gale.

He shrugs casually. "Threw some spears, shot some arrows. And then I sort of… hung myself." He kind of mumbles the last part, looking away sheepishly. I hear Haymitch snicker quietly - I guess this - or what he expected my reaction to it to be, more likely - was the source of his earlier amusement.

"You did _what_?" I gape at him, reaching up to push the collar of his shirt aside to check his neck for bruises.

"By my feet," he assures me quickly, swatting my hands away. "I built a snare that would close around the victims' feet when they stepped into the trap and yank them upside down. And then I stepped into, let myself dangle for a moment so the Gamemakers could see that it would hold, then shot myself down with an arrow through the snare line. Did a mid-air back-flip as a flourish, and fired an arrow into the dummy I'd lined up to be 'attacking me' when I landed."

I'm still stuck on the whole 'hanging' part. "_Why?_" I demand incredulously. "What if you had broken your ankle when the trap closed? What if you had landed on your head and broken your neck?"

Gale rolls his eyes. "What if _you_ had burned your hand off with the firestone? Give me some credit. I wouldn't have tried it if I didn't know I could pull it off."

I'm somewhat mollified by that, but still. It was a risky thing to do and if he had been hurt now … I shudder just thinking about it. "Why didn't you use a dummy?" I ask, my tone gentler than it had been.

Again, he shrugs. "Doesn't take much skill to trap a dummy. And I doubt the other tributes will be so accommodating as to stand still when I try to hang them in the Arena."

The casual way he talks about killing the others makes me cringe slightly. The downside of Haymitch's _'be friendly to the other tributes' _plan is that it's humanized them to me. It makes it harder to think about their deaths with detachment. I'm glad he wants us to avoid fighting them ourselves. I'm sure primal instincts would kick in and I could kill them to save our lives if I had to, but I'd really prefer it not come to that. The Careers on the other hand - no, I don't have many qualms about seeing them hang.

Finally I sigh, "Well I'm glad you're alright." Gale smiles softly at me and brushes his lips against my forehead.

I realize the others are watching us curiously. Effie's expression has softened considerably, though I can't begin to guess what might be going on in her head. Haymitch in particular is studying us intently. "What?" I demand peevishly, unnerved by all the focus on us.

After a beat Haymitch shakes his head and chuckles. "Nothing. Nothing at all, sweetheart."

A servant appears then, signalling to us that dinner is now being served and cutting off any attempt I might have made to probe further. I don't think I'll ever get used to being regarded as such an oddity.

Dinner is a reasonably pleasant affair. Cinna and Portia's presence serves as a welcome buffer between Effie, Haymitch, and us, especially after the tension from last night. Effie and Portia chat happily across the table from each other about local gossip. I tune them out, having no interest in hearing about the lifestyles of the Capitol's rich and famous. Cinna and Haymitch are speaking in low tones about something, sitting next to each other on the other side of Portia, paying us no mind. Gale and I just enjoy not being the centre of attention for once, savouring our meals in contented silence.

Eventually Haymitch and Cinna turn to us, asking about how training in the morning went. We give them a detailed run-down, Effie and Portia stopping their conversation to listen to us as well.

When we tell them about the unusual seating arrangement at lunch, Effie again blinks in surprise, missing the conspiratorial grin that Haymitch and Cinna exchange. She looks more thoughtful than disapproving this time, and I'm slightly stunned when she stares directly at Haymitch and says pointedly, "You'd better know what you're doing."

"Always do, darlin'" Haymitch drawls without missing a beat, but I can see a glimmer of intrigue in his face. Cinna regards her with interest, but her expression gives nothing away. _The many mysteries of Effie Trinket indeed,_ I think bemusedly.

We finish eating in contemplative silence, then move back to the sitting room to watch the ratings announcement on the television. Most of us resume our previous seats. Effie joins the group this time, apparently having forgiven us, and sits on the couch with Portia and Haymitch.

The Gamemakers give every tribute a rating from 1 to 12, with higher scores indicating stronger potential in the Games. A good score can you get you an edge with the sponsors, although it's not a perfect science - sometimes people will underperform purposely to get a low score so that they'll have the element of surprise on their side in the Arena. And of course, sometimes higher rated tributes will make a mistake and get taken out early on. A couple of years ago the male tribute from District 1 was the top rated tribute with a score of 10, but walked into a patch of poison ivy, had a severe allergic reaction, and died on the first day.

Caesar Flickerman will be presiding over the announcements this evening as usual, and I am unpleasantly reminded of the reaping recap when his face fills the screen. I sincerely hope that this broadcast will be less world-altering than that one was.

A picture of each tribute, taken in the Remake Center after our prep teams had finished with us, is displayed on the screen and their score flashes below their image. The Careers all score in the 8-10 range, typical for them. Most of the other tributes score around a 5, also the norm. The fox-faced girl from District 5, who's name I never managed to catch, gets an 8, confirming my suspicion that she'll be one to watch out for. Rue scores a 7, a very good score for someone so young and small, and I wonder what she might have done to impress the judges. Thresh manages a 10, which is unsurprising given his brute strength.

Gale's image appears on the screen and everyone leans forward in anticipation. The number '11' flashes below his picture, and we all erupt in cheers of congratulations. He ducks his head, embarrassed by all the praise being directed his way, but smiles broadly.

"Told you I knew what I was doing," he smirks at me when I catch his eye.

"That you did," I grin back, leaning up to kiss him quickly.

Then it's my turn, and again we all tense. Another '11' appears on the screen and I laugh in happy surprise, as everyone bursts into another round of congratulatory shouts. Effie looks positively beside herself with joy, since tributes from District 12 almost never pull better than an 7 or 8, and usually get scores much lower. There have certainly never been two tributes from 12 in the same year who have both gotten such high scores. Cinna and Portia are beaming at us proudly. Haymitch is shaking his head in amazement. "Who'd've thought?" I hear him mutter.

Effie springs up, declaring that we've earned a celebration and commands one of the Avoxes standing nearby to bring out a bottle of champagne and a tray of the Capitol's finest sweets. The order arrives quickly, one of the servants popping the cork on the bottle and filling six long-stemmed flutes with the bubbly liquid. Cinna leads a toast to us, 'the boy and girl on fire!'

The first bottle is drained swiftly, and another appears in its place. The champagne is sweeter than the wine, the bubbles tingling pleasantly as I sip my glass, filling me with a light, giddy feeling. I let myself get swept up in the jubilant mood, wilfully forgetting the awfulness that underlies what we are celebrating. We have only two more nights left after this until we will be in the Arena, but I don't want to dwell on that now. So I let myself pretend that we are just six (admittedly unlikely) friends, brought together on a happy occasion.

Gale and I drink more slowly than the others, maintaining some semblance of sobriety even as we let the alcohol and the atmosphere relax us. The rest don't hold back, and I'm amused to find out that Effie is a surprisingly rowdy drunk.

I'm giggling lightly, thinking that I've never seen anything funnier in my life than Haymitch trying to teach Effie an old drinking song from District 12, when I catch Gale looking at me, his eyes burning. My breath catches in my throat and I feel dizzy in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol I've consumed.

I glance at the others and realize that they are paying no attention to us. Haymitch is grabbing another bottle and leading them out onto the balcony. I hope briefly for their sakes that the balcony has the same force-field around it that the roof does, because none of them look too steady on their feet right now.

I turn back to Gale and get up from the couch, setting my glass down on the low table beside me and extending one hand in invitation. He smirks lazily at me and my stomach clenches in desire, then he places his hand in mine. He rises slowly, standing only inches from me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body but not actually touching me. I'm not sure whether it's the champagne or the euphoric mood tonight or just _Gale_ but I feel nearly delirious with lust, practically panting as we stand here in the sitting room, no contact between us except our intertwined hands.

Gale moves past me, brushing against the length of my body as he does so and I whimper lightly. He pulls on my hand, leading us towards the hall with our bedrooms. As soon as we are out of view of the sitting room I stop, tugging him sharply to me and wrapping one hand around his neck to pull him down into a searing kiss. I feel him groan more than I hear it, and he presses me against the wall, kissing me deeply. I let go of his hand to wrap my other arm around his shoulders and he reaches down, cupping my bottom and lifting me up. I wind my legs around his waist instinctively, feeling how much he wants me as he grinds into me. I mewl in delight and he steps away from the wall, moving swiftly around the corner to our rooms.

He gives the doorknob to his room - our room, really - a violent twist and stumbles inside. As soon as the door slams shut behind us, I break our kiss long enough to tug my shirt over my head, pulling off his as we tumble onto the bed. He wastes no time in placing a series of hot open-mouthed kisses down my neck, scraping his teeth lightly over my pulse point, causing my back to arch up, pushing my chest into his. He moves to my breasts, kissing and caressing, driving me further into a frenzy of need. I moan loudly when he finally closes his lips over my hardened nipples, sucking lightly at first, then harder. "_Please,_" I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for. He chuckles against me, but continues the path he is charting down my body, tracing the contours of my stomach with his lips and tongue.

He stops when he reaches the waist of my pants to undo them, sliding them off my hips. He looks up approvingly when he sees I'm not wearing any underwear, his eyes dark with want as he murmurs teasingly, "My, my, Catnip. How 'scandalous' of you."

My laugh ends in a strangled gasp when he lowers his mouth to me again, parting my lower lips with his tongue before circling my clit. Nothing has ever felt this good, I'm sure of it. "God, Katniss," he groans against me before burying his face between my legs. I am panting, moaning mindlessly as he works me with his mouth, licking and sucking, driving me crazy.

He slides two fingers inside me and I cry out sharply, the stimulation almost too much to take. I fist one hand in his hair and the other in the sheets beside me, my hips writhing in time with his movements. He places his free hand on my abdomen, holding me down; then his lips close on my clit as he crooks his fingers inside me and all I can do is chant is name as he sends me flying over the edge.

I am still coming down from my high as Gale crawls back up the length of my body, pressing lazy kisses against my skin as he does. He laps up a bead of sweat that had been making it's way between my breasts and I feel the fire start to build in me again. I pull him roughly back up to me, tasting myself on his lips and tongue when our mouths meet in a lingering kiss that quickly turns almost violently passionate. I hook my right leg around his waist, flipping us over so that I am on top.

I blaze the same trail down his body that he had mine, sweeping my tongue over the ridges of his hard-muscled chest and abdomen, enjoying the way he strains beneath me. I tug on the string holding his pants on and yank them down, amused at the eagerness with which he kicks them off. I shiver with desire as his erection springs free, long and hard and _mine_. I stroke him firmly a few times, his harsh breathing echoing in my ears. Then I lower my mouth to him, dragging my tongue slowly along his length from base to tip. I swirl my tongue at the sensitive spot at the just below the head, teasing him until he groans loudly, "Katniss _please." _I take him in my mouth in one smooth motion, rewarded with a strangled cry as he arches into me. His fingers tangle gently in my loose hair as I slide my mouth up and down his length, slowly at first, then faster, hollowing out my cheeks to create more suction, swirling my tongue around him as I move.

I can tell he is getting close when suddenly his hands leave my hair and wrap around my upper arms, pulling back up to the top of the bed. He rolls me under him and enters me swiftly, his mouth descending on mine as he does. I grab onto his shoulders, the muscles rippling beneath my fingers as he thrusts into me, over and over, my hips rising to meet him, my legs locked tightly around his waist. "_Gale_," I whimper as I dig my heels into his lower back, spurring him on, needing him to move faster even as I want this to never, ever end.

"I love you," he pants, his lips trailing along my neck, my shoulders, anywhere he can reach.

"Love … you … too," I manage between gasping breaths, and then I am coming so hard my vision whites out and every muscle in my body is pulled taut as I'm overcome with ecstasy. Gale reaches his own climax a moment later, groaning my name into my shoulder as he does.

We stay tangled together as our racing hearts gradually slow. When my breathing has returned to something resembling normal, I brush my lips against his shoulder; the base of his throat; over the spot where I can feel his pulse still pounding. He turns his head so that our mouths meet in a soft kiss. Or at least, it starts out as a soft kiss, but it soon deepens. Desire is building in me again, and when I feel Gale harden inside me, I know that I'm not the only one. I push gently on his shoulder and he rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I slide down onto him, reveling in this feeling that I have so little time left to enjoy.

We barely sleep at all, burning together throughout the night, nothing and no one in the world but us - Gale and Katniss, the boy and girl on fire for each other.


	16. Something Like Home

**A/N: **So I know this chapter is shorter than usual. It didn't really fit at either the end of the last chapter or the beginning of the next one, so I decided to leave it as a stand-alone. But to make up for it I'll be posting the next chapter tomorrow - and it's a biggie ;)

Thank you again to all my fantastic readers and reviewers! You guys continue to kick all kinds of butt :)

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own anything.

* * *

**Chapter 15 - Something Like Home**

My eyes drift slowly open and I'm immediately disoriented when I find myself staring at trees and grass and low bushes, all uncannily familiar to me. For a brief second I think that the perhaps the past few days were just some long fever-dream; that maybe I was bitten by something while hunting and passed out in the forest. Then my brain catches up with my surroundings and I realize that I am looking at the window in Gale's room, which he must have set to show a view of the woods in District 12. Our woods.

I'm lying on my side, Gale spooned behind me, his chest pressed against my back, one of his arms cradling my head and the other draped across my hips. He's idly drawing small circles over the back of my hand, and I'm not sure if he realizes I've woken until he speaks, whispering sadly next to my ear, "It's Sunday."

Sunday is a day off back home. It's the one day that we have entirely to ourselves, and Gale and I usually spend most of it in the woods, hunting and gathering as much as we can, but also just being together.

Sunday is our day to escape the rest of the world. But there's no escaping where we are now.

I twist in his arms to face him, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek. My heart clenches as I realize how quickly I've gotten used to this - falling asleep in his arms, waking up next to him, nights of passion and quiet moments in the early morning. It'll all be gone soon, and we might never get it back.

"I don't know what I'd do," he begins hoarsely, eyes burning with emotion, "if you didn't make it out." His voice catches at the end, the thought too painful.

Tears fill my eyes, this display of raw emotion so unlike his usual strong, cocky self that it cuts right through me. "Me neither," I whisper raggedly. "I don't know what I'd do without you either."

Our lips meet and our bodies mould together, and I think that perhaps we can escape without ever leaving this room. Then, for a while, I don't think at all.

* * *

Effie knocks at our room a couple hours later, hollering through the door that we have one hour to shower, get dressed, and eat, and then we are to meet her in the bedroom that is nominally mine. Today we'll have four hours with Effie doing presentation training - though what she could possibly have to teach us that would take four hours, I have no idea - and then another four hours with Haymitch to work on the content for our interviews tomorrow night.

We linger longer than we should in the shower, so we're still shoving the last of our breakfasts into our mouths as we enter the bedroom where Effie is waiting. We're on time, at least, so I think we should get points for that. To my surprise, Effie just gives a faintly amused, if somewhat long-suffering, eye-roll at the sight of us when we arrive, mouths stuffed and hands filled with pastries.

Gale and I are definitely dragging a bit after last night's lack of sleep (not that I regret it in the least), and I'm quite glad today will be a less physically intense day than training was. Either Effie's still drunk, or the Capitol has some truly excellent hangover cures, because she, on the other hand, shows absolutely no sign of being even the slightest bit worn-out from the previous night's celebrations. As cheerily as ever, she directs Gale to sit in a chair in the corner of the room before hustling me into the walk-in closet, blathering excitedly about all the things she needs to show me this morning.

The first of these, and the thing that takes the longest, is walking. Walking is apparently a far more complex task than I had thought, considering I've been doing it reasonably well for the last 17.5 years or so. Gale snickers when I point this out to Effie, and she huffs in aggravation, declaring sharply that, "Walking is very serious business!"

After nearly an hour of tottering around unsteadily in the ridiculously high heels she's slapped on my feet, I'm hard-pressed to disagree with her. The height of the heels is nearly impossible to manage, and it doesn't help that the long skirt she's put me in keeps getting caught up in them. I try lifting the skirt up, to get it out of the way, but that turns out to be a big no-no, as Effie immediately swoops on me and slaps my hands down, screeching, "Not above the ankle!"

"Yeah Catnip," Gale drawls from where he's been watching my efforts with poorly concealed amusement. "Don't you know that a reputable lady would _never_ show her shins?" This finally earns us the special glare that Effie seems to reserve just for us, and we applaud its appearance, much to Effie's confusion.

Another half hour of walking practice and I've finally gotten the hang of it enough to look somewhat less like a baby deer standing up for the first time. Effie gives me leave to take off the heels and points me to a chair next to Gale. She instructs us on sitting (which basically boils down to don't slouch, keep your knees together), posture (which I note is basically just the 'don't slouch' part of sitting, but Effie insists it's more complicated than that), eye contact, and hand gestures. Then she announces that it's time for smiling lessons.

Gale and I exchange a dubious look. That sounds like it will be long and frustrating for everyone involved. "Yeah, we're not really 'smiling' people," he says skeptically.

"Nonsense," Effie replies. "I've seen you two smile plenty of times."

"When we felt like it. But not on command," he explains.

"We'll look fake," I add. "Besides, would star-crossed lovers about to be sent to their deaths really be sitting on stage beaming happily? I doubt Haymitch would think so."

Effie narrows her eyes at us, considering our argument. "Fine…" she eventually concedes, and we grin.

"See?" Gale points at our faces. "No practice necessary," he smirks at her.

She smirks right back. "You didn't let me finish." Our faces drop. "_Fine_, we can skip smiling. But Katniss, you're getting back in those heels, and Gale, you are to sit up _perfectly _straight in that chair for the rest of the morning. If you're only going to do a few things I tell you to, you're going to do them _right_." I sigh, defeated, as I slip my feet back into the shoes. _Well played Effie, well played._

* * *

Finally we finish with Effie and have a quick lunch with her and Haymitch. After eating, Haymitch, Gale, and I head to the sitting room, while Effie disappears into the elevator, off to who-knows-where.

Gale and I sit side-by-side on one of the couches, and Haymitch pulls up a chair in front of us. He studies us for a long time, then sits back and crosses his arms, thinking deeply. Or possibly he's sleeping with his eyes open; it's hard to tell, frankly.

I'm beginning to squirm under his gaze when finally he says, "It's kind of stuffy in here, don't you think? Makes it hard to focus. Especially after all the champagne last night."

Gale and I blink in confusion, but catch on quickly. "I could use some air," I answer casually.

"Say we work up on the roof?" Gale suggests innocently. "Balcony might be a bit uncomfortable."

"Good idea," Haymitch agrees, and we troop up the stairs. No one else is up there when we arrive - possibly no one else even has a way to access the roof. The stairway doesn't lead down at all from our floor, only up, and I haven't noticed any other entrances to the roof. We stroll to the garden and find a pair of benches facing each other. Gale and I sit on one, Haymitch on another across from us.

Once we're seated, Haymitch dives right into what he's brought us up here to say, being careful to keep his voice low. "The interviews tomorrow night are going to be the trickiest part of all of this. There's a lot that you need to accomplish in them, and most of those things are in conflict with each other. You need to win over the Capitol audience to make sure that you'll have sponsors when you need them. You've also got to rile up the districts, without seeming like that's what you're trying to do. And ideally you want to do both of those things without undermining what you've accomplished with the other tributes so far - keep the Careers reluctant to deal with you off right off the bat and everyone else on your side. And of course you have to do all of that with _your_ personalities, which might be the biggest challenge in all of this."

Gale glares daggers at him, and I respond icily, "I think we've done just fine so far with our personalities, as lacking as they may seem to you."

Haymitch actually considers that for a while, rather than arguing back immediately. And I really think it's a valid point - we started all of this through our spontaneous actions at the reaping, and we did exactly what Haymitch asked us to with the other tributes without even really trying. Sure, Cinna was largely responsible for the success of debut in the opening ceremonies, but we will have his help again tomorrow as well.

Eventually Haymitch nods, and says, "You're right, most of your charm is in your spontaneity. Fine, we won't worry about finding a specific trait for either of you to emphasize. Just be yourselves. But remember - you need them to like you. Which means you need to let them know you, but also not know how much you dislike _them_."

"_You_ know us, and you don't seem to like us very much," Gale points out dryly.

"I don't like anybody," Haymitch shrugs. "I wouldn't take it personally."

"We really don't," I assure him brightly, and Gale chuckles.

Haymitch's expression suggests that maybe we should take it just a little bit personally, but he continues without commenting. "Caesar will probably ask you about your sister," he says looking at me, "and you'll both be asked about your relationship. Try to have some idea what you might say - I know we're going for spontaneity, but what you say and how you say it is extremely important. Don't let him blindside you into screwing up."

I don't want the people in the Capitol to know anything real about me, or Prim, or my relationship with Gale, or anything else about my life. I don't want the truth of the things I value most being held up for their judgment, for them to twist and warp. But I can understand that it is a necessary evil. And it's not just the Capitol that needs to know me, I realize. It's at least as important, if not more so, that the people in the districts feel a connection with us. Not just pity for two young people in love being destroyed by the Capitol's cruelty - that has gotten their attention, brought the depth of injustice into focus, sparked resentments long in the making. But they need to identify with us as people for this to really work - our struggles have to be theirs.

We indicate that we will follow his instructions, and Haymitch rises. "Well kids, that's all I've got for you. I'll leave it in your 'capable' hands." He salutes us sarcastically as he turns to head back towards the stairs.

"You know," Gale muses in the direction of Haymitch's retreating back, "I'm not sure who I feel more sorry for - him for having to deal with Effie all the time, or Effie for having to deal with him."

"It is a tough call," I agree wryly. Then I wrinkle my nose in distaste as something occurs to me. "If we win, we'll have to put up with the both of them for years."

Gale shudders. "Suicide suddenly not seeming like such a bad option," he mutters, making me laugh.

We were supposed to have four hours with Haymitch this afternoon, but only about an hour has passed when he takes off. Belatedly I wish he had stayed - there are other things we could have talked about. Like what would happen if we actually succeed in what we're attempting. Or what he could do to help our families if something goes wrong. But it would look suspicious if one of us went to call him back up here - whoever might be listening to the conversations on our floor, or even watching the cameras I've spotted in the common areas of the suite (the bedrooms, thankfully, don't seem to have video surveillance) would know something unusual was going on.

Instead, Gale and I explore the garden further, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun and the time to just be together. We eventually find a massive willow tree growing in one corner, and settle in the soft moss growing at the base of it. I sit against the tree, and Gale lies on his back, his head resting on my thighs. I run my fingers lazily through his hair, and we just sit like this for a long while. Eventually we go inside to order some food, then bring it back up to the tree.

We stay here for hours, watching the sunset and darkness fall over the city, the glow of the buildings lighting up the night like artificial versions of the stars that we can't see here. Only when the chill of the night becomes intolerable do we retreat to Gale's room.

It was not exactly like spending the day roaming free in our woods - not even close really - but we were outside and we were alone together, the rest of the world seeming very far away for a few happy hours. And given our current circumstances, it was more peace than we could have hoped for.


	17. Eyes on Fire

**A/N:** As I'm sure you've all guessed, it's interview time! Let's just get right to it :)

**Disclaimer: **'The Hunger Games' belongs to people who aren't me. Chapter title and lyrics are from Blue Foundation's "Eyes on Fire," which, if I was ranking soundtrack songs for this story in order of relevance, is definitely in the top three.

* * *

**Chapter 16 - Eyes on Fire**

_~I'll seek you out, flay you alive / One more word and you won't survive_

_And I'm not scared of your stolen power / See right through you any hour_

_I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame / Shuffling the cards of your game_

_And just in time, in the right place / Suddenly I will play my ace~_

Cinna wakes us on the morning of the interviews and I barely have time to pull on a robe before I'm being shuffled out of Gale's room and into mine to meet with my prep team. They work on me for hours, well into the afternoon. My skin is cleaned and buffed and polished until it shines like satin. They stencil designs along my arms and legs, and paint my fingers and toe nails into perfect flames. I'm allowed to eat lunch as Venia works on my hair, curling it before weaving red and gold ribbons through its length, then setting it in an elaborate braid.

My make-up is far more complicated than it was for the opening ceremonies. Octavia applies a creamy pale base, then lines my eyes with a dark pencil that makes them look impossibly large. My lips are filled in with a deep red colour, and long eyelashes are glued to my lids, deep black with hints of gold that sparkle in the light. When they are done, they cover my entire body with a faint gold dust, the designs on my arms and legs seeming to shimmer and dance when I move once it's applied.

Cinna enters then, holding a garment bag that I assume contains my dress. He tells me to close my eyes and lift my arms, so I do. They slide the dress down my body and I'm amazed by how heavy it is, wondering what on earth it could be made of to weigh this much. I am relieved to note that it seems to fall just below my knees, so at least I won't be tripping on it all night. I hold onto Octavia as Cinna slides my shoes onto my feet, their heels thankfully a couple inches shorter than the one's Effie had me practice in. I just might be able to walk in them without falling on my face after all. They adjust the dress until Cinna is satisfied that it is hanging perfectly.

I feel Cinna place his hands on my shoulders, gently directing me to turn to my right. Then he says, "Open your eyes, Katniss."

What I see in the mirror he's placed me in front of renders me speechless. I look stunning, like the most radiant and exotic version of myself. The dress is covered entirely in reflective gems, reds and golds and oranges and just a hint of blue to accentuate the tips of the flame designs. The flames appear to flicker whenever I move, and the make-up my team has applied gives the impression that I am being lit all over by their glow. The effect is astonishing.

For a while we are silent, captivated by my reflection. Eventually I whisper, "Oh Cinna. Thank you, thank you so much. It's perfect."

He smiles, and orders, "Twirl for me." I do, and the entire team erupts in screams of admiration. I hear the bedroom door slam open, and come to a stop to see Gale bursting into the room, drawn by all the noise I suppose.

"What hap-" he stops mid-word when he catches sight of me. His jaw literally drops as he rakes his gaze along the length of my body, head-to-toe and back again. I'm sure my expression matches his - he looks impossibly handsome in slim-cut black suit with flame accents. I've never seen him in formal wear before - most people in the Seam can't afford dress clothes, and the only time they ever bother with them if they can are for their wedding. I hope that we can take these outfits home with us, if we actually make it through the Games.

We stand there for quite some time, ogling each other, completely oblivious to our prep teams' giggling. Finally Cinna steps between us, chuckling, "Alright, let's get a move on. You can gawk at each other later."

Gale holds out his right arm to me, and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. He covers it with his left hand, and, as we walk towards the elevator, bends to whisper in my ear, "You look ravishing Catnip." He brushes his lips against the shell of ear as he says this, making me shiver delightedly.

"You clean up pretty well yourself," I murmur back, looking up at him from beneath my lashes.

"Maybe," he allows, his voice low and rumbling against me, "but I think I prefer being _dirty_." He nips lightly at my earlobe, and I bite my lip to keep from whimpering.

"Not. Fair." I grind out as Effie and Haymitch come into view, dressed in their finest clothes as well. Gale just winks at me.

We step into the elevator as a large group. The interviews will take place on a massive stage set up in front of the Training Center, at the top of the City Circle. The tributes will be seated in a big arc along the stage throughout the interviews, coming up one at a time to sit across from Caesar Flickerman at the front of the stage for their interview. The stylists will be seated in the front rows, so the cameras can show them when their designs receive recognition. Effie and Haymitch will apparently be seated further back among the spectators.

When we reach the bottom, everyone wishes us luck, and then Gale and I take our places at the end of the line-up of tributes. I stand in front of Gale, as the female tribute from each district always precedes the male in the interviews. For once I'm oddly glad that we will be going last. It will give us a chance to see how the others handle their interviews, get a sense for the kinds of questions Caesar will ask and a feel for how the audience is responding to people.

The assistant in charge of directing us on-stage shouts a 10-second warning before we will make our entrance. The other benefit of being from 12 is that we have the shortest distance to walk to reach our seats, a small mercy given that I'm still a bit shaky from the heels and the sudden rush of nerves that hits me when the roar of the audience reaches my ears.

As the girl from District 1 steps forward, I feel Gale take my right hand in his from behind me. I turn to flash a quick smile in his direction, and then we are moving.

My heart begins to pound as soon as I step on stage. The crowd is deafeningly loud. The City Circle is lit up with a thousand lights, all pointing directly at us tributes. The stylists and other honoured guests are sitting in an elevated seating unit in front of the stage. Dozens of balconies have been set up around the City Circle, most of them occupied by television crews, though the one closest to stage right holds the Gamemakers. The rest of the City Circle and all the avenues leading into it are packed with people, as far as the eye can see. Every television set in Panem is tuned in to this too, I know, as the interviews are mandatory viewing. Millions and millions of eyes, all trained on me. I force myself to keep my breathing steady and the anxiousness from showing on my face, using Gale's hand still clutched in mine to ground myself.

We reach our seats, and I have to let go of Gale to steady myself as I sit, so I don't just topple backwards in these heels. I look over at him when I'm settled. He holds out his hand to me again, and I slip mine back in it, the seats just close enough together for us to be able to reach each other comfortably, our arms dangling loosely between the chairs. The crowd erupts in an excited roar when they see this, broadcast larger than life on the many screens lining the City Circle and the exterior of the Training Center.

Caesar Flickerman chooses this moment to bound on-stage, and the crowd goes wild again. He's dressed in a midnight blue suit covered without thousands of tiny light bulbs that sparkle as he moves. His lips and eyes are painted a dark shade of blue, chosen to match his hair no doubt.

When the audience finally quiets a bit he turns to Gale and I, smiling brightly, and faux-admonishes us, "I think you two might have stolen my thunder!"

The crowd erupts once more, a few in denial, most in agreement. Caesar basks in the attention and I lift my free hand to wave at the audience, acknowledging their excitement. They cheer even longer, and I glance over at the opposite side of the stage to see the Careers from 1 and 2 looking absolutely livid at the way we've already stolen the show.

Caesar finally gets the crowd more or less under control, and calls forward the first interviewee, Glimmer, the girl from District 1. I roll my eyes at the ridiculous names 1 always gives their children. I wonder if they name them when they're born and just hope they grow into them, or if they wait until the child's old enough to have developed their features and personality. Probably the latter - wouldn't really do to have some plain-looking girl named _Glimmer_.

Glimmer sashays forward, dressed in a semi-sheer gold gown that stops well above her knees and a pair of sky-high heels that make even Effie's seem reasonable. It's obvious her mentor's gone with the 'sexy' angle for her, and it's not hard to see why, with her flowing silver-blonde hair, large green eyes, and (quite possibly cosmetically enhanced) lush body.

The audience cheers loudly for her, and then Caesar starts his questions. Each tribute has only 3 minutes in the spotlight, then a buzzer will sound indicating their time is up. Caesar has been doing this for nearly 40 years now, and the one thing I can say in his favour is that he always does his best to put everyone at ease and make them look good.

I realize I haven't really been paying attention to her interview when I hear Caesar ask, seemingly out of nowhere, "So I imagine you've made quite an impression during training. Some of the boys must've had their eyes on you?"

She swivels in her chair to shoot a heavy-lidded look at Gale, saying seductively, "More than just their eyes, Caesar."

Rage flares up in my chest - her mentor must have told her to try to do something to get between us. But it's so patently ridiculous that the anger vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Gale and I glance at each other and simultaneously burst out laughing. When I manage to get my giggles under control, I shout incredulously, "You can't _possibly_ be stupid enough to think that would have worked? Or is common sense not part of your training?"

Now it's the audience's turn to roar with laughter, and Glimmer's face is a perfect mask of hatred. The buzzer goes off and she stomps back to her chair, sulking over her 'brilliant' plan back-firing.

Marvel makes his way to the front next. I'm curious about how this one is going to go. Probably at least some news of our altercation has made it's way around the Capitol. Technically people aren't supposed to know what goes on during training, but only the private sessions are kept strictly secret. With the number of witnesses, not to mention the fact that everyone's mentors and escorts and stylists would have heard about it, rumours are bound to have spread. I wonder if Caesar will bring it up, to give Marvel a chance to defend his image, or if he'll keep quiet so as not to risk embarrassing Marvel further. Probably the latter - it's unlikely that it could do Marvel any good to have to discuss on national television getting his ass handed to him by a girl half his size from the most pathetic district in Panem, especially with the live audience already leaning our way tonight.

A small triumphant smile plays across my features as I think about it, remembering the look on Marvel's face when I pinned him to the ground. Gale squeezes my hand and I look over at him. He furrows his brow quickly, wondering what's got me so pleased right now. I cast my eyes briefly in Marvel's direction and shrug lightly. He gets it, and grins back at me, lifting our hands and leaning in to kiss my wrist.

The crowd again bursts into loud cheers and catcalls, and I look over at Marvel, wondering what he did to get their approval. Except he's sitting there glaring viciously at us, and Caesar is looking somewhere between amused and frustrated. I realize that without even meaning to we've stolen all the attention once again. Marvel's buzzer goes off and Caesar dismisses him apologetically.

"Two down," Gale mutters below his breath and I snicker quietly.

The girl from 2, Clove, is summoned next. If she had been intending to provoke us, she seems to have learned from Glimmer's mistake. She ignores us entirely and all of her answers are about herself, how strong and fearless she is. They're good enough answers, but she doesn't have much charisma and the crowd doesn't seem particularly interested by her. Certainly far more exciting things have already happened tonight.

Then Cato comes up. _This one should be interesting_, I think_. _

He glares in our direction as he walks from his chair to the one across from Caesar. So naturally, one of the first things Caesar asks him about is the tension between him and us. He answers dismissively, "I just don't see what all the fuss is about. I could overpower both of them in my sleep." He does some flexing for the crowd, and they _ooh_ appreciatively at the display. I roll my eyes. It would look ridiculous even if Gale hadn't taken him down in three moves the other day.

Caesar chuckles. "So I guess we can look forward to some fireworks between you in the Arena?"

Cato glowers menacingly as he practically growls, "Let's just say this, Caesar - heads are gonna roll. And mine won't be one of them."

It fits with the ruthless angle he's trying to work, but it's quickly apparent that he's overplayed his hand. The crowd loves us already, and the cold brutality with which he threatens us upsets something deep inside them; something they probably couldn't even name if pressed. Instead of appreciative cheers, all he gets are unhappy murmurs and a few strings of 'boos.' It derails his entire interview and Caesar never quite manages to get it back on track.

The buzzer goes, and I'm relieved that we're done with the worst of the Careers. In training it was obvious that the two from District 4 are going to be little more than human shields for the stronger tributes from 1 and 2. I doubt they have anything clever up their sleeves tonight.

The interviews continue, with just about everyone playing up some angle. The fox-faced girl from 5 is sly and elusive; the boy from 3 is clever and resourceful.

But I realize that something unusual is happening as well. Several of the tributes work in some reference to us in their interviews - sometimes specifically, mentioning an interaction we had with the during training; others are more indirect and just draw a parallel to our situation, discussing a girlfriend or boyfriend or sibling make home and how relieved they are that that person is not here. It's not everyone, but it's enough to stand out, particularly considering the tributes usually try to avoid mentioning each other altogether. The effect is always to make us seem even more sympathetic and I can't even begin to puzzle out what is going on. I wonder if Haymitch has had some hand in this; if there are other mentors of the same mind as he is with respect to the Capitol that he might be working with. Or else we had a much bigger effect during training than we realized.

Caesar calls Rue's name, and she flits her way to the front of the stage, dressed in a gossamer gown complete with delicate wings floating behind her. The crowd is as enthralled by her effervescent sweetness as we all were. He asks her a few questions about life in District 11, and then notes that the Capitol must be quite a change from home for her. "What have you enjoyed most since you've been here?"

"Well the food's been spectacular," she starts, and the audience chuckles lightly, "but I'd have to say all the wonderful people I've met." At this she turns to smile brightly at Gale and I, and we can't help but smile back at her. A low '_awwww'_ spreads through the crowd.

Caesar moves on to complimenting her score, and asks her what her greatest strength in the Arena will be. She answers slyly, "I'm very hard to catch. And you can't kill someone you can't catch. So don't count me out."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Caesar says sincerely.

Her time ends, and Thresh steps forward. Unsurprisingly he shows no interest in engaging with Caesar, refusing to banter and only giving one word answers, when he chooses to answer at all. I wonder what his strategy for getting sponsors is. Probably his giant stature and intimidating personality will be enough to entice some of them, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's already decided he has no need for them. He certainly doesn't seem like he's ever been interested in taking help from anyone.

I hear my name called and I stand nervously, knowing the next few minutes could make or break our chances. I take a couple steps forward, then feel Gale tug lightly on my hand. I spin to face him reflexively, my eyes questioning, and I hear the audience gasp in appreciation. The slight movement has swirled my skirts around me, making it look like the flames of my dress are engulfing me.

Gale winks - apparently this is the effect he was going for - and kisses my hand quickly. I whirl the rest of the way around, facing the front of the stage again as the crowd cheers. I put a little extra bounce in my step as I walk forward, the swish of my hips making the flames flicker across my body. I twirl once more when I reach the front and wave to the crowd before shaking Caesar's hand, earning a huge round of applause. I catch Cinna's eye in the front row as I take my seat, and see him beaming proudly at me.

"That was quite an entrance," Caesar asks, smiling widely.

I say honestly, "Most of the credit goes to Cinna, who's designs are simply brilliant. Don't you agree?" I ask the audience and they clap wildly. Cinna raises a hand in acknowledgement.

Caesar addresses Cinna, "Yes, fantastic work my friend." Then he changes topics: "So, we'll talk about you and Gale," the crowd cheers again, "but first I'd like to go back to the moment when it all started - the reaping, when your sister's name was called and you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"

I swallow hard. I knew this was coming, and I know where I'd like this line of questioning to go. I choose my words carefully, hoping to lead Caesar where I want him. "Her name's Prim. She's only twelve; it was her first time in the draw. I love her more than anything - her and Gale, of course."

Caesar nods solemnly. "And how did you feel when you heard Gale's name called moments later?"

I inhale, trying to keep my voice steady as I draw on the emotion from the memory that flickers through my mind. "It was awful of course. Knowing that there can only be one Victor; that even if one of us were to win it would mean …" I trail off meaningfully, pausing sadly for a moment before I go on. "And I also couldn't help but think of our families, of what it would be like for them, knowing that only one of us could possibly come home."

The crowd shifts uncomfortably. Normally the interviews don't get this serious. I'm praying I'm still on the right side of the line between devastated girl in love and open rebellion.

Caesar asks the question I was hoping he would. "How do you suppose your families feel about how you've done so far?"

"I'm sure they're relieved that we've had so much success," I start, then act as though I'm considering something, "but I imagine this is all probably harder for them than it is for us."

"How so?" he prompts. You could hear a pin drop in the City Circle right now, no one even daring to breathe.

"Well Gale and I have each other here, to support each other and fight together. And we have so much to focus on, first with training and then tomorrow in the Arena. But for our families…" I take a deep breath, as though I'm overwhelmed talking about this. It isn't entirely an act.

"Our families are very close. And Gale and I are both 18 you know. And I'm pretty sure our mothers began planning our wedding the day I came of age, if not before then." I smile sadly, as if overcome with nostalgia. "A wedding that will never happen now." The crowd murmurs unhappily over the tragedy of it all.

I pause again, then add, "Not too long after my birthday I came by Gale's house to find his mother sorting through an old box of clothes - his and his brother's and sister's from when they were just babies. She smiled when she saw me; told me she imagined I'd be having need of them sooner or later. For our children. But now…" I trail off again, sighing sorrowfully, and the crows is once again breathlessly silent.

It's not entirely true that this is something we've lost - I don't actually want to have kids. Or at least, I don't want to have to kids while there's still the Capitol and the Hunger Games and the constant struggle not to starve to death in District 12. I've never given much thought to whether I'd want them if there weren't all those threats hanging over our heads, though I know Gale would. It's never seemed like something that would be possible, so there was no point wasting time thinking about it.

But it's true enough that we should never even have the choice now, with only one Victor allowed. And it suits the point I want to make, albeit indirectly - we are not just two kids in love; we are someone's daughter and son; sister and brother; possible mother and father someday were it not for this. We could be anyone - and anybody could be us.

Haymitch told us on the train that in the Arena, everything about you becomes part of the Games. But that's not entirely accurate. We've seen it tonight - each tribute, under the guidance of their mentor, chooses one feature to define their persona. In the Arena, _one thing _about you becomes part of the Games - everything else disappears, deemed irrelevant. It dehumanizes the tributes, turns them into nothing but physical embodiments of adjectives. _'I'm betting on the sexy one,' _people will say, or, _'Can you believe what that ruthless one did yesterday?' _

This is the real brilliance of the 'star-crossed lovers' angle, I've realized - it does not strip me, or Gale, of any part of ourselves. We love each other with everything we are, good and bad. In the Arena I do not have to be only clever, or sexy, or strong, or shy, or sullen, or merciless. All I have to do is love Gale, something that is as natural as breathing to me. And I can do that by being myself - a whole person, for all of Panem to see and understand and embrace. That is the best weapon I could ever have against the Capitol.

I look at Gale, his eyes burning into mine. My gaze still locked on his, I continue: "Gale and I, we have the fight for our lives, and we WILL fight, with every ounce of strength we have." He nods, and I turn back to Caesar. "But I think the saddest part, which must be weighing on our families, is not just that our lives may be lost, but all the futures that could have been and never will be. So I just … I just hope we can make them proud, while we're here."

The buzzer rings out loudly, over the still silent crowd. Caesar stands and recovers himself with some effort, managing to say, "Best of luck Katniss Everdeen, tribute from District Twelve."

I smile sadly and bow slightly to the crowd, before walking back to my chair in the arc. Gale is already standing and intercepts me, wrapping his arm around my lower back to pull me to him. I place one hand on his chest, grasping his tie lightly, and he dips his head to give me a sweet but lingering closed-mouth kiss. The cheers from the crowd this time are distinctly teary, and I know I've gotten to them. He gives me a quick reassuring smile that I return, and then slides past me to head to Caesar, our hands clasping once, quickly, before he's out of reach. I sit down and do my best to look composed, mournful but determined.

Gale strolls smoothly up to Caesar and the crowd gets somewhat rowdier as he raises a hand in greeting to them, the tension easing a bit as the women (and quite a few of the men) swoon over him.

I search futilely for Haymitch in the audience, wondering what he thought of my interview. I imagine he's either thrilled or furious. I don't doubt that what I said went over well in the districts, and it certainly seemed to move the crowd here - I'm just not sure whether they'll be so uncomfortable that they won't want to sponsor us. It was a risk, but I don't regret it. Not yet, anyway.

Caesar decides to try to keep things light for the moment, joking about the tension with Cato and talking about Gale's score of 11, asking if he can tell everyone what he did to get it. Gale smirks enigmatically, noting that we've got Districts 1 and 2 shaking in their boots, and that's all anyone needs to know. Caesar laughs, while Cato, Marvel and Glimmer all scowl angrily.

Caesar brings the discussion back to us, observing that we always answer for the both of us, as a pair. Gale replies definitively, "We're a team. I'd die for her. She'd die for me. It's that simple."

Caesar looks serious as he asks, "Do you agree with what Katniss said, about how your families must feel now?"

Gale nods. "Of course." Then he looks over at me, his expression suggesting he's considering whether or not to reveal some piece of information. I wonder if he planned this. "She doesn't know this," he says, glancing at Caesar before locking his gaze back on mine, "but … our mothers weren't the only ones planning our wedding."

My eyes are as big as saucers, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it even above the excited murmuring of the crowd.

"Like she said, we're both 18 - this would have been our last reaping. I was going to propose to her that night, after it was over." It's the truth, I can see it in his eyes. He's telling it now because it can help us, and I'm a little bit mad that _this_ is the moment he picks to fill me in, but I don't really care too much because he was genuinely planning to do it. Only… "Only I never got the chance," he finishes sadly, eyes bright with tears, as I know mine are.

The murmuring of the crowd is growing louder, agonized cries from a few especially dramatic spectators adding to the din. Caesar is visibly flustered behind Gale, reaching for something, anything to say. It is a testament to just how unprecedented this whole situation is that we are able to throw even a seasoned pro like Caesar. Finally he goes with, "Well perhaps you still could…"

Gale turns to him briefly, shaking his head mournfully, "I don't think so. Rather hard to celebrate an engagement at a funeral."

The crowd inhales as one at this and I wonder if perhaps he's gone too far with that remark.

And then something happens, that never, not in a million years, I could have dared to hope for. Caesar Flickerman, face of the Capitol and of the Hunger Games, actually asks, "What if somehow you could both be Victors," - even he looks surprised by the words coming out of his mouth, but he's committed now, so he presses on - "if such a thing were possible. Would you propose then?"

I hope our absolutely gob-smacked expressions will be chalked up to never having even considered that such an outcome could ever be possible. And that the wide grins spreading across our faces will be seen as indicating our happiness at the idea of having a future together (which, to be fair, it partly is). _And_ that we do not look too triumphant, because that would be rather suspicious, since we shouldn't have anything to gloat about over that suggestion as far as the audience and the Capitol is concerned.

Eyes never leaving my beaming face, Gale answers, "If we were lucky enough to receive such mercy?" He smiles brilliantly, and the whole crowd swoons, as he finishes, "Absolutely I would."

The audience goes insane, cheering and screaming impossibly loudly. Over the din, the sound of the buzzer closing out Gale's time can just barely be heard, so this is the note on which the interviews end. Gale returns to the line of tributes and sweeps me into his arms, and I bury my face in his shoulder to hide from the cameras, no clue what the appropriate expression to have on my face is at this moment.

Nothing is assured yet - no rule changes have actually been announced and none may ever be; the Careers are going to be gunning for us twice as hard now; anything could still happen in the Arena; the authorities in the Capitol may despise us enough to disregard how much their population loves us. But I still have the feeling that the odds, if not exactly in our favour, have definitely improved substantially for us.

It's several minutes before the audience settles down. When the noise level has dropped from a raucous din to just a quiet roar, the anthem begins to play. Gale and I are already on our feet, and now the rest of the tributes stand as we are required to do. I lift my head and see that every screen in the City Circle is dominated by a shot of Gale and I, arms around each other. I'm reminded of the reaping and the spark that was ignited there. I can see it burning now, deep within us, shining out of our faces in what I hope looks to the Capitol like nothing more than determination to do whatever it takes in the Games and not the rebellious spirit it truly is.

Feeling emboldened, I look around until I am staring back at myself through the screen, my eyes trained directly on the cameras, and raise my chin slightly. A signal to the Capitol of my confidence; a promise to the districts of our defiance. The message is the same for both of them - _We will not go down without a fight._


	18. Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

**A/N: **You guys. You guys are just the best. Thank you so, so much to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter. I just … wow. You guys blow me away. So I really, really hope I don't let you all down, basically lol.

So, here we go. Last chapter before the Games start. Everyone ready?

**Disclaimer: **'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins and her publishers. Chapter title and lyrics are from Snow Patrol's "Somewhere a Clock is Ticking" (also a top three soundtrack song). One of Gale's lines of dialogue is borrowed from an episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ (5 points to anyone that picks it out). And, actually, the central conceit for this chapter is loosely inspired by an episode of _Angel_. Oh, and there's a very small _Twilight_ reference. Chapter 17 - brought to you by ALL the fandoms!

* * *

**Chapter 17 - Somewhere a Clock is Ticking**

_~Something happened, that I never understood / You can't leave_

_Every second, dripping off my fingertips / Wage your war_

_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die / Well I am scared_

_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful~_

The anthem ends and we file off stage, far less orderly than during our entrance. Gale and I head straight for the elevators, holding on tightly to each other so that we don't get separated in the chaos backstage. We end up in a car with Rue and Thresh, the doors shutting before anyone else can get on.

Rue turns to us excitedly, "Can you believe that? They loved you so much!"

I smile sweetly at her. "They loved you too, you know. I don't think you're going to have any trouble catching sponsors."

"Maybe," she agrees brightly, then smiles mysteriously, reminding so much of Prim I can't breathe for a second, "but I don't think I'm gonna need them."

The doors open on her floor then and she skips off without another word. Thresh gives us a curt nod and steps out after her.

I look up at Gale, his expression just as confused as I'm sure mine is. Finally he shakes his head, muttering wryly, "Seems everyone here's got a secret."

"Yes, there does seem to be a lot of that going around," I say pointedly, raising one eyebrow at him as the doors slide open onto our floor and we exit the elevator. No one else has reached the suite yet - not surprising, given the mob that they'll have to push through downstairs. "Is there anything _else_ you'd like to share with me?"

Gale actually blushes, a look I rarely see on him. I have to admit it's quite adorable. "I'm sorry you had to find out like that. I wanted to tell you, I swear, but I thought it'd be better if your reaction was natural."

I pretend to look at him sternly for a minute, marching forward until I'm standing directly in front of him, one finger pointed at his chest. "Catnip…" he begins apologetically, but I cut him off with my lips against his, standing up on my toes to kiss him deeply.

He pulls back after a minute, surprised. "You're not mad?" he asks warily.

"No, I'm not mad," I answer quietly. "I just … I wish I could have found out the way you meant me to." I look up at him sadly.

He sighs regretfully, caressing my cheek before cupping it in his palm. "Me too," he whispers, lowering his mouth back to mine.

I wind my arms around his neck as he pulls me flush against him, sinking further and further into the kiss. We're so wrapped up in each other, that I completely miss the little chime indicating the elevator doors are about to open.

"Oh _come on_," Haymitch groans, and we spring apart as he, Effie, Cinna, and Portia file out of the elevator. I can feel my face burning, while Gale just glares at the interruption. Cinna and Portia look distinctly amused, and even Effie is no longer sporting the disapproving expression she usually gets whenever she catches us in a compromising position. Haymitch, on the other hand … well, Haymitch is Haymitch.

Feeling unusually flustered, and hoping to distract everyone from the scene they just walked in on, I ask nervously, "So, how'd we do?"

Haymitch and Cinna look at each other inscrutably for a moment, then proud smiles spread across both their faces (well, in Haymitch's case, it's more of a reluctantly admiring grimace, but that's practically a standing ovation by his standards).

"Top marks on all categories kids. Good work," Haymitch says gruffly, high praise coming from him. "I'll tell you what, I've never seen a show like that before," he chuckles, actually smiling genuinely for a moment.

"It wasn't too … dramatic?" Gale asks cautiously.

Haymitch shakes his head, and Effie interjects, "Oh you two were just heartbreaking! The sponsors will be falling all over themselves to be part of your story!"

"Fabulous," Gale says flatly, but if Effie notices the disdain in his voice, she doesn't show it.

"Although I can't imagine what on earth Caesar was thinking, suggesting two Victors. He must have been truly taken with you two, to even dream of that. I mean, could you imagine such a thing? What a simply _preposterous_ idea!" Effie chirps loudly, her tone scandalized. But I have seen Effie outraged a lot - _a lot_ - over the last few days. And something about her demeanour now rings false. I examine her closely, looking for any hint of what may be going on inside her head - normally I'm quite good at reading people, but I get nothing from her. Effie is truly an enigma.

"Well, never mind that," Portia says, changing the subject. "You were fantastic, both of you. You absolutely outshone everyone else there."

"Although you've definitely made yourselves the top targets for the Careers. That's less than ideal," Haymitch frowns.

Gale and I exchange a quick look. "I'm pretty sure we made ourselves the top targets for the Careers when we beat them down in full view of, oh, _everyone_," I point out. The damage was done as soon as I shoved my bow in Marvel's face, if not sooner. We may have overshot Haymitch's instructions to make them wary but still underestimate us. But it's not like they gave us much choice.

"I think we can handle them," Gale says levelly.

"Don't get cocky," Haymitch warns him. "There won't be anything to hold them back in the Arena. You've got a chance against them, _if_ you're smart out there. Jury's still out on that one." If looks could kill, Haymitch would be dead several times over from the one Gale's giving him.

"Enough," Cinna interrupts, before Gale can argue back. "You did wonderfully tonight, both of you. Let's just have dinner and savour the victory."

Now that he's mentioned it, I notice that the air is filled with the sweet aroma of this evening's soup - cream and rose, it smells like. I realize I'm famished and head towards the dining room, the others trailing after me.

Effie and Haymitch are reasonably civilized once we sit down to eat, praising Cinna and Portia's work on our outfits and laughing over the way the District 1 tributes were embarrassed.

But for all that we are supposed to be savouring our victory, the table quickly lapses into a rather solemn silence. All the planning and strategizing and training and preparing is over now. There's nothing left but the Games themselves, only a few hours away at this point.

I was hungry enough to eat a horse when we sat down, but my appetite has all but vanished by the time the main course comes out. There's a clock on one wall of the dining room, it's glowing digital display counting off the minutes faster than seems possible. I force myself to continue eating, knowing I need to keep up my strength, but the food tastes like ashes in my mouth.

The interviews started at 5:00pm. It was just after 7:00pm when we sat down at the table. Somehow it's already 7:50.

Then 8:02.

Then 8:17.

We have to leave for the Arena at dawn the following morning, around 6:00am. We have less than 10 hours of freedom left. 10 hours where our lives are not in danger. 10 hours to be together, just Gale and I.

It's not enough time.

8:23.

_It's not enough time._

Gale is tense beside me, his eyes flicking to the clock every time mine do. My breathing is getting shallower and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to start screaming. I feel like I did that time on the elevator into the mines after my father died - trapped; terrified; desperate to run, to be anywhere but here.

It is Effie, of all people, that notices my growing distress. "Katniss," she says gently, and my eyes snap from the clock (8:29) to hers. "Why don't you two go turn in for the night? It's a big, big, big day tomorrow," she offers, her tone cheery as always; but her smile is impossibly sad.

Haymitch just about falls out of his chair in shock that _Effie _would suggest such a thing. Even I'm too surprised to respond. It's Gale that finally asks, confused and looking rather surprised to actually hear the words coming out of his mouth, "Don't we have to watch the replay of the interviews soon?"

Effie fidgets with her cutlery, a rueful smile on her face. She eventually looks up at him, saying dryly, "You were there. I think you know how it ends."

Cinna chuckles while Haymitch and I gape at her. Gale's eyes are wide saucers, hearing his own words from our first night here parroted back to him like this. I guess Effie gets tired of us all staring dumbly at her, because she finally rolls her eyes, ordering, "Well, go on then!"

We don't need to be told again (8:32), scrambling to our feet. Everyone else rises as well. Cinna and Portia will be accompanying us to the Arena tomorrow, but tonight is the last time we will see Haymitch and Effie, possibly forever if things don't go our way. It's time to say our goodbyes.

Effie comes over to me and surprises me again by pulling me into a tight hug, which I awkwardly return. Then she grabs both my hands in hers, slipping something small and hard into my left palm as does so. She squeezes my hands, closing my fingers around the object, and winks at me conspiratorially. Her expression reminds of nothing so much as the look that Madge wore when she gave me the mockingjay pin after the reaping. Some of my anxiousness fades as I'm overcome with curiosity about what she could have given me. But I get the impression that I'm not meant to look at it here, so I simply hold onto it for now.

Effie moves on to squeeze Gale's hands as she did mine, though he doesn't seem to receive any mystery objects from her. She wishes us luck and thanks us for being the best tributes she has ever had the privilege of representing. Gale and I exchange an amused look over this assessment, but if she's willing to let bygones be bygones, who are we to argue?

"I'm sure you two are going to do great things," Effie says, her tone an odd combination of cheerful and portentous. She gives us one last appraising look and enigmatic smile, then scurries off.

We turn to face Haymitch, who is regarding her with bewilderment. Finally he shakes his head, his expression indicating that he has no clue what to make of her either.

"Any final words of advice?" Gale asks reluctantly, unsure what kind of answer to expect.

Haymitch considers us intently for a minute. Then he sighs in exasperation. I frown, wondering how exactly we managed to frustrate him without speaking or moving or even blinking, really. "The Cornucopia's a bloodbath. You'd be better off staying the hell out of it, but somehow, I don't see that happening." Gale and I look guiltily at each other - he's probably right, the temptation of weapons and supplies will be too much to resist. "My honest advice - if you care: when the gong sounds, get out of there. Put as much distance between yourselves and the others as possible, and find a source of water."

He pauses, thinking deeply for a minute before continuing. "My realistic advice, knowing the two of you? Get it in and get out as fast as your damn legs can carry you. You said you're both strong runners, and I'll take your word on that. When you get into the Arena, before the gong goes off, pick one thing - _one thing_, no more - each to go after. Grab it and get gone; don't stick around for the fight. Get as far away as you can and _find water_."

We nod. "Anything else?" I ask.

Haymitch shrugs. "You already know the rest." Yes, I suppose we do.

There doesn't seem to be anything else to say, so Gale and I start down the hall towards our room. We make it a few steps before Haymitch calls out, "Listen …" We turn, looking at him curiously. He hesitates before continuing, "if things … go bad in there, I'll see what I can do, for your families back home."

He looks decidedly uncomfortable, but sincere, and I feel tears well up in my eyes. I'm almost tempted to go hug him but I'm pretty sure that'd make him rescind the offer on the spot. Instead, I just breathe, "_Thank you._"

Haymitch nods in acknowledgement, then his eyes meet Gale's. Neither of them speaks or moves, but some sort of understanding seems to pass between them. A moment passes, then Haymitch nods again and turns away; after a beat, so do we.

* * *

I don't even realize we've reached our room until I hear the door click shut behind me. The sound pulls me from the daze I had fallen into, and I suddenly remember about the object Effie handed me. I open my palm and look down, letting out a sharp gasp of surprise when I see what it contains.

It's a heavy cracker, perhaps one square inch large and no more than a quarter inch thick. Imprinted on one side is a familiar image - one tiny mockingjay, wings spread in flight. A symbol of the rebellion.

_If _Effie Trinket_ is a mole I'll eat my damn bow_, I think, completely awed.

Gale's noticed what I'm holding and looks about as gob-smacked as I feel. Finally he just shakes his head in amazement, muttering again, "_Everyone_ here's got a secret."

I toss the cracker in my mouth, chewing it quickly, not really knowing what else to do with it but not daring to leave it lying out for someone to find. I have no idea what to make of this revelation, or what it means for our chances in the Arena.

I catch sight of the clock on the bedside table and I'm overcome with a wave of nausea.

8:51 PM.

Only 9 hours now.

I turn away from the clock and this time my eyes stop on my own image, my reflection staring back at me from the wall length mirror opposite the bed. Just a few hours ago I was breathless at my appearance, thinking I had never looked more beautiful or radiant. Now I'm filled with an overwhelming, irrational anger. I look like a little Capitol doll, Cinna's lovely dress suddenly seeming like it is swallowing me whole; the carefully applied make-up no longer luminous but horribly garish.

All the pretty dresses and complicated make-up and stupid crackers cannot help me in the Arena; cannot protect me when I actually need it.

I kick off the heels I'm still wearing angrily, not even able to enjoy the relief of being steady on my feet again. I whirl and storm furiously into the bathroom, tugging off the lavish dress and tossing it carelessly aside as I do. I slam hard on the buttons for the shower, and step inside, rubbing violently at my face and arms and legs. I need all of the make-up and gold paint and ridiculous stencilled designs off of me now. I want to scrub my skin raw until every trace of the Capitol is erased.

By the time I've removed the last stain of the Capitol from my body, I'm breathing heavily and a bit light-headed. I feel like I'm spinning out of control and know I can't keep going like this, not now. I brace both my hands against the cool tile wall on either side of the spray from one of the many showerheads, bending my head into the streaming water and trying to get a hold of myself.

I feel one of Gale's hands on my back then, gently caressing the length of my spine, and I release a shuddering breath. I wonder how long he's been there, waiting for me to settle down enough to let him to approach me. He reaches up with his other hand to undo my braid, slowly unwinding the ribbons from my hair and casting them aside. He runs his fingers through the locks when they're free and some of the tension leaves my body. His hands glide softly over my shoulders then slide down my back, coming to rest on my hips, his thumbs stroking the skin of my lower back. I inhale sharply and it sounds like a sob. Maybe it was one.

"Catnip," he whispers tenderly, squeezing my hips lightly.

I pivot slowly to face him. Without the spray of water on my face I realize I'm crying, silent tears slipping down my cheeks. When my gaze meets his, I can see that Gale's eyes are filled with tears as well. As though in a daze, I lift my right hand to caress his cheek, running my thumb over his lower lip. He catches my hand in his and turns his head to kiss my wrist, my palm, the tips of my fingers. He places my hand back on his neck and slides his palm along the length of my arm before tangling his fingers in my hair and cupping the back of my head.

My breathing is laboured again, but this time it's not out of anger or despair. He lowers his head to me and I raise mine to him and our lips meet somewhere in the middle in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens. I bring my other hand up to twist my fingers in his hair, holding him to me, as he moves his left hand from my hip to wrap his arm around my back, pressing my body firmly against his.

I make a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan at the feel of his naked skin against mine. He growls in response and something snaps inside both of us. Suddenly our hands are everywhere, sliding over each other's water-slicked bodies, memorizing every curve and plane. Gale steps forward, pinning me against the tile wall, and I grasp his shoulders as he lifts me up. My legs wrap tightly around his waist and he slides into me in one smooth thrust, making us both gasp at the sensation.

I cling desperately to him as he moves inside me, my nails digging into his skin painfully, though he doesn't complain. He keeps a tight grip on my thighs to keep me from sliding down the wall. I'll have bruises tomorrow but at the moment I couldn't care less.

Gale trails his lips down the side my neck and my head lolls back in pleasure, bouncing lightly off the tile wall. His movements still as he looks at me with concern.

"S'ok," I assure him breathlessly, but he frowns and hits a button on the shower panel. The water stops abruptly and I shiver at the sudden rush of cold air at the same time that I pout as he slips out of me. He presses another button as he steps out of the shower, my limbs still wrapped around him like a spider-monkey while one of his arms supports me under my thighs, and a blast of hot air rushes over us. He stands in it just long enough for us to not be soaking wet, then moves swiftly towards the bed, clearing the distance with only a few long steps.

I expect him to lay me on my back, but he surprises me by sitting down on the edge of the bed, settling me astride his lap. For a moment we just stare at each other, my fingers moving delicately over the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Gale slides his hands up legs, over my backside, along the sides of my waist and ribcage, his thumbs grazing my breasts lightly before he slides them up over my shoulders. Again he cups the back of my head, and then moves his other hand back down the length of my body to my hip. I raise myself up on my knees, my mouth hovering just inches from his. Then I lower myself slowly onto his hardness, a breathy "_oh_" escaping my lips as he fills me. I stay still for a beat, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room. I finally claim his mouth with my own as I begin to ride him, raising my hips slowly only to slam back down, repeating the motion over and over and over again.

My breasts slide against his chest as I move, my nipples almost painfully hard from the sensation. The position creates a delicious friction between my thighs, my clit brushing against his pelvis with every stroke. Gale lowers his other hand, gripping both of my hips tightly now, and grinds up into me. I tear my lips away from his as I cry out in pleasure and he attacks my neck with his mouth before arching me back to lick and suckle at my breasts.

"_Gaaaaale,"_ I whimper and he grazes his teeth over one of my swollen nipples. I gasp and roll my hips sharply into his, my movements quickening. His head snaps back and he groans my name, thrusting harder up into me.

I fist my hands in his hair and pull his head back up to mine. Our mouths meet in a wild kiss, tongues tangling desperately as we move faster and faster together.

Suddenly he wraps one arm around my waist and flips us over in one fluid motion so that I'm on my back beneath him, our rhythm never faltering. He links our hands together above my head, and slams his hips into me, the new angle letting him slide deeper and harder. My hips buck wildly into his and I pull my knees up as far as I can, opening myself to him as widely as possible.

"_Fuck, Katniss," _he growls and I answer with a string of incoherent and uncontrollable moans and whimpers and gasps of bliss.

I'm close, so close, and then he twists his hips and my orgasm hits me like freight train, my back bowing and my nails digging into his hands as I come apart, screaming his name, my thighs clenched tightly around him. He comes at the same time, roaring my name into my shoulder, grinding his pelvis into mine and prolonging both of our ecstasy.

I am shattered, absolutely shattered beneath him, his strong arms around me and heavy weight on top of me the only things holding me together at all.

* * *

As I slowly return to myself I realize I'm trembling, my breath coming in pained gasps. A few traitorous tears escape my eyes as Gale raises himself on his elbows to look at me worriedly.

"Catnip…" he whispers softly, and hearing the nickname he uses for me so lovingly is what finally breaks the last of my emotional control.

"I don't want us to _die,_" I blurt out, dissolving into full-blown sobs that have been threatening to explode intermittently for days.

Gale quickly rolls us onto our sides, pulling me tightly against his chest and I curl against him, finally letting all the emotion I've been suppressing since the reaping pour out of me. I bury my face in his neck and he does the same in mine. I can feel that his cheeks are wet too and this only makes me cry harder, winding myself so tightly around him I hope they'll never be able to pull us apart. He strokes my back soothingly and whispers comforting nonsense in my ear and I try to do the same for him, though I think I'm far less successful.

Eventually I wear myself out and I think maybe I drift off to sleep for a bit. When I wake, Gale is on his back and I'm lying half on-top of him, one of his arms around my waist and the other stroking the arm I have splayed across his chest. I can see the clock on the nightstand.

1:07AM.

"5 hours," Gale says flatly. I feel horrible for wasting so much time with my emotional outburst, and it must show on my face, because Gale caresses my cheek sweetly, whispering warmly, "It's okay, Catnip," when I finally meet his eyes.

It's not okay to me, but I don't want to waste even more time arguing about it. "I love you, so much," I whisper hoarsely, leaning up to kiss him.

Gale slides his fingers through my hair and moves to hover over me again. He stares down at me, his eyes burning brighter than I've ever seen them. He strokes my hair, brushing it back from my face, as he whispers back, "My whole life, I've never loved anything else. Only you."

His voice is raw with emotion, and I feel myself choking up again, but I push it away, knowing that the time for crying is over. Instead I pull him back down to me, expressing myself the best way I know how.

We make love slowly this time, savouring every touch, every kiss, every sigh; committing every moment to memory to hold onto in the darker moments that lie ahead of us. As we come together, I remember what Gale said in the interviews, about it being hard to celebrate an engagement at a funeral.

I realize it would probably feel very much like this does.

We stay awake as long as we can keep our eyes open afterwards, not wanting to lose these last few precious moments together. As I finally let myself slip away into sleep, limbs tangled with Gale's so that every part of our bodies are touching, I look at the clock one last time.

5:00AM.

1 hour.

It's not enough time.

But no amount ever could have been.

* * *

_~ A clock is ticking but it's hidden far away_

_Safe and sound_

_Safe and sound~_


	19. Into the Breach

**A/N:** Thank you, as always, to my wonderful reviewers! As always, I am just totally overwhelmed by the response to this story, so thank you all, so so much. Five points to WizardofAllGenres and zenleigh who named the _Angel_ episode and _Buffy_ quote in the last chapter; and a hat-tip to loonygirl22 for spotting the _Twilight _reference lol.

Anyway, as the man says: "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

**Disclaimer**: I don't own 'The Hunger Games'.

* * *

**Chapter 18 - Into the Breach**

"Katniss, wake up."

I hear a gentle voice saying my name but I ignore it, burying my face deeper into Gale's chest. His arms tighten around me and I settle against him.

"_Katniss._" The voice is more insistent now. "Gale, come on. It's time to get up."

I emit an incoherent whine of disagreement and Gale grunts unhappily. It cannot possibly be time to get up. The voice is a liar, I'm sure of it.

The voice is also a jerk, I decide, when I'm hit in the face with a pillow as it commands firmly, "I'm sorry, but you have to get up _now_."

I finally open my eyes to glare at the source of the voice - Cinna, standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, looking at us apologetically but sternly. A quick glance at the window confirms that the sky is just beginning to lighten, and the clock on the bedside table reads 6:03AM.

This is it then.

With a heavy heart I turn to Gale, and shake him fully awake. His face falls when he realizes what is happening. He strokes my cheek and I lean my forehead against his. We breathe together for a moment, steeling ourselves for what's to come, then kiss softly, reluctant to end our last safe moment together.

Finally we separate and I turn back to Cinna. He's staring at the floor respectfully, trying to give us what limited privacy he can at this moment. I say his name and he looks up at us, smiling sadly.

"There's a tunic and pants for each of you by the door," he says with no preamble. "Get dressed and then we'll head up to the roof to meet the hovercraft. Your final dressing and preparation will take place separately in the catacombs under the arena."

"Will we at least be going there together?" I ask hopefully.

Cinna nods. "Normally each tribute goes separately, but given your extenuating circumstances, I was able to get permission for Portia and I to bring you to the Arena in the same hovercraft."

"Thank you," Gale says sincerely.

Cinna nods and gives us another sad smile. "Better hurry up. Can't be late today." He spins on his heel and walks quickly out of the room, leaving us to dress.

Gale and I take turns freshening up quickly in the bathroom before pulling on the simple clothes left for us. We don't dawdle - there's not point in forestalling the inevitable.

Just as I'm reaching for the doorknob to head out to meet Cinna and Portia, Gale stops me, circling my arm with his hand and turning me gently to face him.

"Catnip," he says seriously, "I promise, no matter what, we're in this together," reaffirming the vow first made in the car, all the way back in District 12. Several lifetimes ago, it seems like.

I reach up to stroke his cheek gently. "Always," I confirm, leaning up to kiss him deeply.

After a minute we break apart and I turn back to the door, leading us out of the room for the last time. I can't resist taking one last longing look at it as we walk away. For all of the awful circumstances surrounding our presence here, in a way it was the first home we ever shared together, besides our woods. And it may well be the last.

Cinna and Portia are waiting for us at the door for the stairway to the roof. We walk up in silence, everyone's mood sombre. A hovercraft appears almost as soon as we reach the top, and I'm reminded of that day in the woods, when we saw the redheaded Avox girl captured. I wonder briefly what happened to her, as I never saw her around our floor again after that first night. I wish I had gotten the chance to speak to her, to apologize for not doing anything to help her when she needed it.

A ladder drops down and Cinna gestures for me to step onto it. I do and I'm instantly frozen in place, some sort of current keeping me paralyzed as the ladder pulls me up into the hovercraft. Instead of releasing me as soon as I'm inside, I'm held immobile as a woman in a white coat approaches me. My eyes widen nervously when I notice the syringe in her hand, but I'm unable to move any other part of my body.

"Don't worry," the woman says calmly when she notices my expression, "this is just your tracker. It's easier to place if you're completely still." Not that I have any other choice at the moment.

I feel the sting of the needle as she slides it into my arm and deposits the small metal device securely under the sensitive skin of my forearm, just below the crook of my elbow. Now the Gamemakers will always know where I am within the Arena. _And possibly outside of it_, I shiver, disturbed by the idea.

The ladder finally releases me and I move away from the entrance as it lowers once more, rubbing the sore spot on my arm absently. A moment later it reappears with Gale attached to it, and his eyes glow with irritation as the woman subjects him to the tracker implantation.

When he's unfrozen, Gale comes to stand by me, taking my hand in his. The woman disappears and Cinna and Portia are retrieved from the roof. An Avox boy arrives to lead us to a room with a wide array of breakfast foods laid out. I'm not hungry, my stomach an uncomfortable knot of fear and grief and nerves, but I force myself to eat almost to the point of making myself sick since I don't know when or what my next meal will be.

I look out the windows as the hovercraft sails through the sky, amazed at the sight of the world flashing by beneath me. I think of the mockingjay pin Madge gave me, the defiant bird soaring free from captivity. I may be flying now, but it is most certainly not to freedom. But if the bird was escaping, it had to have first been captured too, as I am now. The thought gives me some small amount of comfort, a reminder that hope is not yet lost.

Gale squeezes my hand, breaking me from my thoughts, and I incline my head towards the window. "Incredible, isn't it?"

"Certainly is," he whispers, and when I glance at him, I see that he's not looking out the window at all, but staring adoringly at me. I blush and huddle closer to him.

After about half an hour the windows black out, indicating that we are near the Arena. Gale and I both tense, holding on tighter to each other. All too soon the hovercraft lands, and we go back down the ladder one-by-one, this time travelling down a long tube that leads into the underground catacombs beneath the Arena.

Cinna and Portia receive directions to our individual chambers where we will undergo our final preparations. Here they call them Launch Rooms. In the Districts, we refer to them as the Stockyards - where the cattle are led to their slaughter.

Our chambers are in opposite directions from the place where we entered the catacombs, so this is the last time Gale and I will see each other until we are inside the Arena. We face each other, and he takes both my hands tightly in his.

"I love you, Catnip," he whispers. There's really nothing else left to say at this point.

"I love you too," I breathe back and then he pulls me too him, our mouths crashing together in one last desperate kiss. We cling to each other tightly for as long as we dare, reluctantly pulling apart only when we hear Cinna clearing his throat pointedly somewhere behind me.

"See ya in the trenches," Gale says with forced lightness, and I manage a small smile before placing one last brief kiss on his lips and stepping away from him.

I push down the urge to cry as I walk to where Cinna is standing. He looks sympathetically at me, gesturing in the direction that we are to go. My eyes meet Gale's one last time over my shoulder as we walk away, and then we turn a corner and he is gone.

* * *

We arrive at my Launch Room, a simple space about half the size of the bedrooms in the Training Center. Everything is brand new. I will be the first and only tribute to ever use this room. Every year a brand new Arena is constructed for the Games. The old Arenas are preserved as historic sites, and serve as popular tourist destinations for the Capitol citizens.

If Gale and I are successful, this year's Arena will be historic for an entirely new reason - the place where the end of the Capitol began.

I clean my teeth and shower quickly, then Cinna does my hair in my usual simple braid. A package with my clothes arrives. All the tributes will be dressed in the same outfit; our individual stylists have no say in what that might be. Cinna helps me dress in the simple undergarments, flexible tan-coloured pants, light green shirt, and black hooded jacket that falls just about to my knees. He comments that the material of the jacket is designed to reflect body heat, indicating I should expect some cold nights out there.

The outfit is completed by a pair of thick wool socks and supple leather boots that have a rubber sole with treads - ideal for running. They're similar to the ones I have at home, which were designed for use in the wilderness. Their presence makes me optimistic that the Arena will contain at least some woods - terrain I am well-familiar with.

When I've finished dressing, Cinna pulls the small gold mockingjay pin that Madge had gifted me with from his pocket. I knew he had taken it from my train outfit to get it approved for use as my district token. He hadn't mentioned it since that first day in the Capitol, and I wasn't sure whether I would ever see it again.

"They let it through?" I ask happily, glad that Madge's gesture wouldn't be for nothing.

He nods, moving to fasten it on my shirt just below the collar. "A couple of them didn't want to allow it; said it could be used as a weapon, giving you an unfair advantage."

I roll my eyes at that, but suppose it could be true, if unlikely. If I managed to stab someone right through the eye, or slash their jugular with the pin end, it could do some serious damage. I imagine Marvel with the pin jammed in his neck, the mockingjay sparkling rebelliously from a pool of blood, and am filled with a sort of sinister glee.

I shake myself out of it, thinking that the pressure might be really starting to get to me. Gale would love it though, and I wish he was here so that I could tell him about my disgusting little daydream.

I realize belatedly that Cinna is still talking. "They took away the District 1 girl's token, a ring. If you twisted the gemstone, a spike popped out, with a poisoned tip. She claimed to have no knowledge of it, and they can't prove she did." _The hell she didn't_, I think spitefully.

When Cinna has the pin attached to his satisfaction, he has me move around to make sure everything is comfortable. No problems there - the clothes fit perfectly, like everything here somehow always does.

He offers me food but I can't bring myself to eat anything more, and just request a glass of water instead. We sit in silence, waiting for the call that it is time.

After a while, a pleasant female voice announces that it is time to prepare for launch. I rise and walk nervously to the circular metal plate in one corner of the room. I stand facing Cinna and he takes one of my hands in his.

"Remember what Haymitch said. And remember to listen to what this says." Cinna places one hand just over my heart, and I nod, inhaling deeply, steadying myself. "You'll know what to do," he assures me. "And no matter what, you're not alone in this." His eyes burn brightly with the same fire I see so often in Gale's, and that more than anything helps settles my nerves.

"Thank you, Cinna. For everything you've done for us," I say, my voice thick with gratitude.

He smiles kindly at me. "You know I'm not allowed to bet. But if I could, my money would be on you." '_Both of you,' _he adds silently, mouthing the words.

I smile back gratefully, and stand up straighter, that fierce determination that I felt at the end of the reaping settling over me; but deeper, stronger, with clearer purpose, after all that has happened since then.

"Good luck, girl on fire," Cinna whispers ardently, squeezing my hand.

Then a glass cylinder lowers around me, and I'm forced to drop his hand. The metal plate begins to rise and I hold my head up high, bracing myself for whatever I am about to be shoved into.

After about 15 seconds of darkness I inhale fresh air and am dazzled by the brightness of the sun overhead. I try to force my eyes to adjust as fast I can, wanting as much time as possible to take in my surroundings. Before I can even see, I catch the scent of pine on the air, and am relieved to know that whatever else might be out here, at least there are trees.

My vision is just clearing when I hear the voice of Claudius Templesmith, legendary announcer of the Hunger Games, booming around me: "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

Sixty seconds. That's how long we're required to stand on our metal plates before the sound of the gong releases us - anyone that steps off early will have their legs blown off by land mines buried in the ground between the ring of tributes and the Cornucopia. That's also how long I have to assess the environment, and make a decision about what I will do when the gong sounds.

We're currently on a flat, open stretch of ground. Behind me I can see nothing, indicating a steep downward slope, possibly even a cliff. To my right is a large lake, and I cannot see what, if anything, lies beyond it. To my left and wrapping around behind the Cornucopia to meet the far edge of the lake, there is a moderately dense, piney woods, not unlike the ones outside District 12. That's clearly where we need to head - the question is what, if anything, we will be taking with us when we go.

Approximately 100 yards in front of me is the mouth of the Cornucopia, a large golden horn nearly twenty feet high. Arrayed in front of it are things that will help keep us alive in the Arena - food, water, weapons, medicine, protective equipment, and more. The most valuable items are right at the mouth of the Cornucopia, with less useful things spreading out to within a few feet of the ring of tributes surrounding it.

All 24 of us are arranged in a half circle around the Cornucopia, each tribute equidistant from the center. Our individual spots were chosen via random draw, to avoid any suggestions of bias in individual tributes' placement.

My position is approximately 60° from the right edge of the half circle, with 7 tributes standing to my right and the rest fanning out around to my left. It's a fairly decent position - I'm on a good angle to run into the Cornucopia, grab something, and just keep on going into the woods beyond it to the left. I finally locate Gale, 8 spots down on my left. His eyes flick to mine, sensing my gaze on him, and he nods quickly. We are going in.

I turn back to the Cornucopia, knowing I don't have much time left to figure out what to grab. But I know what I'm looking for and I spot it quickly - a silver sheath of arrows with red feathers at their ends and a bow, already strung, resting atop a mound of blanket rolls on the right-hand edge of the Cornucopia.

I had been hoping it would be on the left side, but there's nothing I can do about that. But then a flash of something glinting in the sun to the left catches my eye, and I spot a second bow and arrow set, identical to the first, but on the left side of the Cornucopia.

Two bows, one for each of Gale and I, on opposite ends of the Cornucopia. They're obviously hoping we'll each go for one, splitting us up in the process. I suspect the draw for spots is not nearly as random as it is purported to be, since we are each perfectly positioned to be tempted to the oppositely situated bows.

I look quickly back at Gale. We are running out of time, and it is imperative that we both go in the same direction as soon as the gong sounds. Any hesitation and we could lose our shot or get caught in the bloodbath if we try anyway.

I catch his attention and flick my eyes sharply to the left and then the gong sounds and I take off, sprinting as fast as I can towards the bow on the left and hoping he understood.

I run flat out on a diagonal course, my feet pounding against the hard-packed ground. About 20 yards in, I spot an orange back-pack on the ground just ahead of me, directly in my path, and I scoop it up as I pass it, tossing it over my shoulder without breaking my stride. Haymitch told us to only go for one object each, but he didn't say anything about not grabbing others we might come across as we're doing that.

As I'm nearing the bow, someone reaches out and grabs me, a hand closing around my arm and yanking me around. I find myself staring into the panicked eyes of a vaguely familiar boy, the one from 9 I think, and I don't have a chance to find out what he intends because suddenly he coughs, splattering my face with blood. He falls and I see the boy from 4 standing a few yards behind him, several throwing knives in his hands.

I whirl to sprint the last few yards towards my bow, unwilling to leave my prize now, even as I sense the District 4 boy bearing down on me from behind. I hear a blade whistling towards me and I hike my backpack up instinctively to protect my head, the knife lodging firmly in the pack. I've reached the bow and arrow sheath, grabbing them tightly. I whip around to face my pursuer, but realize as soon as I do that he is too close - I won't have time to load the bow before he'll have killed me.

Almost as soon as the realization hits me the boy keels over, a spear embedded deeply in his stomach, piercing him clean through to come out his back. I pivot and am flooded with relief as I spot Gale behind me, a grim smile on his face. He's managed to grab a belt with several knives, as well as a backpack. And presumably at one point he had a spear, but that's obviously gone now.

"Need a hand, Catnip?" he smirks but his heart isn't it, as he's still winded from the sprint and is keeping a vigilant eye out behind me.

"Duck!" I yell, as I spot Clove on a tower of water containers behind him, the other bow in her hands and aimed squarely at Gale's heart. He does, thankfully, as her shot goes high - she's clearly not very adept with a bow, but in this case her error would have scored her a perfect head-shot. I load my own bow and fire quickly at her, hitting her in the right leg just above the knee and disabling her long enough to grab Gale's hand and make a run together for the woods.

When we've crossed the tree line we pause for one instant to survey the field. The remaining Careers are hacking away at several of the regulars. Possibly half a dozen tributes are on the ground, dead or nearly there. I spot another few fleeing, either into the woods or over the edge of the void behind us. I think I see Thresh headed in that direction. I don't see Rue anywhere, and I take that as a sign that she got away. She's so little, the Careers probably didn't even notice her before she was already gone.

Gale and I turn, running deeper into the woods, adrenaline propelling us long after we would normally tire out. Haymitch's instructions to us become a mantra in my head, and I have never been so determined to obey him as I am now: "_Get as far away as you can. Find water. __**Stay alive**__."_


	20. The First Cut is the Deepest

**A/N**: Thank you once again to everyone who's reviewed! I can't believe how many came in over the weekend. You guys rock my socks off :)

This chapter is a bit filler-y, but I will be back soon with the next one! For anyone that's wondering, as of this posting I've written up to and including Chapter 27, so I promise there will be no shortage of updates (and action) to come.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own 'The Hunger Games'.

* * *

**Chapter 19 - The First Cut is the Deepest**

Gale and I run for nearly an hour before we let ourselves slow into a steady jog, which we eventually begin to alternate with periods of walking. Our primary objective is to put as much distance between ourselves and the Cornucopia, where the Careers will no doubt set up camp once they finish off everyone brave enough or stupid enough (or suicidal enough) to stick around for the fight there. But when they have, they'll begin scouring the woods for the rest of us, and we want to be well out of their immediate range by then.

As we move I pull the knife out of my backpack and stick it in my belt, though we don't dare stop yet to see what our packs contain. I hope at least one of them has some water. We've seen no sign of any except for the lake back at the Cornucopia and that's clearly not an option. When we're far enough from the others, we can focus on searching for another source. Haymitch's order to find water immediately wasn't arbitrary - we won't last long without it.

The woods evolve the deeper into them we travel, the tall pines intermingling with a variety of other trees and shrubs, only some of which I recognize. The longer we are in them, the more everything starts to look the same, and I hope that we are not just wandering in circles. The Arena has to end somewhere, and I wouldn't put it past the Gamemakers to design the woods so that they inevitably lead you back to the Cornucopia - the heart of danger here.

After a few hours Gale stops, tapping me lightly on my shoulder and pointing ahead to my left. For a moment I think we've come across another tribute and brace myself for a fight, but then I see what he is gesturing at - a fat brown rabbit, partially concealed by the brush. Dinner.

I take a quick look around and don't sense anyone else nearby. So I load my bow and fire, hitting the unsuspecting rabbit clean in the eye.

Gale retrieves the rabbit and hands me back my arrow. I clean it with some leaves, taking a moment to wipe off the blood on my face from the boy back at the Cornucopia as well. I stick the arrow back in the sheath, and we move on swiftly.

No matter what direction we go, the ground seems to slope down, sometimes gently, sometimes more steeply. I'm not thrilled by this - being in a valley makes me feel trapped, and I'd rather have the advantage of the high ground. But I remember that water flows downhill, and realize that we might have a better chance at finding some if we follow the steeper slopes and keep an eye out for game trails or denser patches of vegetation. It's like Haymitch said - everything in the Games is either a strategy or a liability; it all depends on how you use it. That includes the terrain. The rabbit we found proves that there must be other sources of water besides the lake, as it's much too far away for the rabbit to survive on.

Around what I guess to be about 4:00pm, based on the position of the sun in the sky, the first cannon blast rings out. Each cannon shot represents one dead tribute. Normally they sound as soon as someone dies, but on the first day they wait until the bloodbath stops to count off the deaths, as it's too hard to keep track of the fatalities during the fighting. If the cannons are firing now, that means the Careers are likely on the move, as the cannon also heralds the arrival of the hovercrafts that appear to collect the bodies. They only show up once the killers have dispersed.

We slow our pace enough to count the number of shots fired - eleven total. Nearly half the field dead in just a few short hours. The boys from 4 and 9 (I think) are two of them, we know that. I wonder if Clove survived the wound I gave her - probably, it didn't look like I hit any major arteries. We won't know for sure until after sundown, when the images of the dead will be projected into the sky for the rest of us to see.

We continue on for a couple more hours, until the sun is hanging low in the sky. Under the concealment of the reddish light of dusk, we stop to make a small fire and cook our dinner. While Gale uses one of the knives from his belt to prepare the rabbit, I take the time to go through the contents of our packs.

I start with mine. It's sturdily built - obviously, since it could survive more or less intact after having a knife thrown into it - but the orange colour is unfortunate. I wouldn't be surprised if it literally glowed in the dark, and I know I'll have to do something to cover it up. I lay it's contents out carefully: a thin black sleeping bag made of the same material as our jackets; a packet of crackers; a packet of dried beef strips; a bottle of iodine; a box of wooden matches; a length of rope; and a capped half-gallon plastic bottle that, to my immense frustration, does not actually contain any of the water it's designed to hold.

I sigh and turn to the backpack Gale managed to snatch up. He must have found it closer to the mouth of the Cornucopia, because it's both larger than mine, and a dark green colour that will stand out much less. Like mine, it also contains a sleeping bag, iodine, matches, and rope. His pack has crackers and beef strips as well, two packets of each. There's also a large plastic square that would provide protection against rain, as well as a long coil of wire that's perfect for setting snares. Gale's eyes light up when I wave it in his direction. At least we won't have to worry too much about food between the wire and my bow.

And there, at the very bottom, is a plastic water bottle, identical to the one in my pack, except for one key difference - it is actually _full_.

I just about cry in relief when I feel the heavy weight of the bottle. I'm suddenly acutely aware of the dryness in my throat and mouth, the cracks in my lips, the slight ache in my limbs. The level of physical exertion we've gone through today isn't that unusual for us, but we've always had water skins with us or streams to drink from.

A half-gallon between the two of us isn't a huge amount, especially when we are on the move and it's this hot out, though it should be enough to last for a day or two if we're careful. But more importantly, it buys us time to find a more secure source of water than the lake, and I'm extraordinarily grateful for that.

When I show Gale the full bottle of water his features flood with relief. He takes two careful sips before passing it back to me, and I do the same. At this moment, the water tastes sweeter than even the finest champagne back in the Capitol. It tastes like life.

I pour half the bottle into my container, taking care not to spill a single drop. Then I repack our bags, leaving the coil of wire on the top of Gale's, certain he'll want to set up some snares before we find a place to stop for the night. By the time I finish, the rabbit is ready, and Gale stomps out the fire.

We eat in happy silence - all things considered, this day has turned out about as well as we could have hoped. We have food, we have some water, we have supplies and weapons, and we have each other. All the things in the world that we need.

* * *

As soon as we finish eating we get ready to head out again. Gale hides the rabbit's bones and entrails under some foliage. I take a minute to smear the ashes from the fire over my backpack, trying to camouflage the bright orange colour. It helps a bit, but what I really need is some mud. But I'm certainly not about to waste the precious water we have to make some, so that will just have to wait. Then I carefully kick away all traces of the fire, moving the pine needles that litter the floor around so as to make the spot undetectable.

It's twilight now, and we don't have too much longer to find a safe place to wait out the night. We can't stay on the ground - the trees are too thin here to provide enough cover and we'd be sitting ducks for anyone that might come by. We both need sleep too much to set up alternating watches tonight, even though that would be ideal. But the long day combined with the fact that we've slept far too little since we got to the Capitol (which, admittedly, is no one's fault but our own), rule out that possibility for this night.

We keep going for another hour or so, eventually pausing every so often for Gale to set a snare, four in total. Hopefully by tomorrow morning we'll have all the food we need for the day.

I keep my eyes open, looking for a tree that's sturdy enough for us to set ourselves up in for the night but that will also provide us with sufficient concealment from anyone walking by. By the time we come across a clump of willows that I think will do, it's nearly full dark. Owls hoot occasionally around us, and I shiver as I wonder what other predators of the night might be out here - animal or otherwise.

I choose a willow at the heart of the cluster, the long, flowing tresses of the trees providing ample cover. We climb a little more than halfway up before finding a sturdy fork that will support both of us reasonably comfortably. I unzip the sleeping bag from my pack and spread it along the thick branch protruding from the base of the fork. Gale sits on top of it as I tie our packs securely together and hang them over a nearby branch, within arms' reach of the branch we are on and close to the trunk of the tree. I hook my bow and sheath of arrows carefully over the packs so that I can pull them off quickly if needed, and do the same with Gale's belt of knives. Then I settle between Gale's legs, my back against his chest, and drape his unzipped sleeping bag over top of our legs.

As a precaution, Gale loops the rope from his pack all the way around our branch and legs, tying it over my waist on top of the sleeping bag. This way if either of us rolls over in our sleep, we won't go crashing to the ground.

I pull the hood of my jacket over my head against the cool night air, and Gale does the same. Then he wraps his arms around me from behind, taking each of my hands in his and crossing our joined limbs tightly over my stomach. He buries his face against my neck and I turn my head towards him, his warm breath fanning my face. Despite the cold night, I'm actually reasonably cozy and comfortable, and I know I won't have any trouble falling asleep. I think again about how lucky we are, relatively speaking - I'm sure several tributes out there are struggling just to stay warm; hunger and thirst only making it more difficult to do so.

I'm just starting to drift off when the anthem that precedes the death recap starts to play. Gale lifts his head up from the crook of my shoulder and I tilt mine back as well to look at the spot in the sky where the seal of the Capitol appears to be floating. In actual fact it's an enormous screen being suspended from one of the Capitol's invisible hovercrafts.

The anthem ends, and the sky goes dark again for a moment. At home, we would have seen every death in all their gory detail on the television as it happened, and then over and over again in the recaps and analyses. Here in the Arena, all we'll see are the images of the dead tributes, the same as those used in the presentation of our ratings, and their district number, floating in the sky. It's thought to be unfair to show the tributes how the others were killed, lest someone's secret strength or skill be revealed.

The first face to appear is that of the girl from District 3, meaning the Careers from 1 and 2 all survived the day. I'm not particularly surprised that the wound I gave Clove wasn't fatal - I hadn't shot to kill at the time. I am mildly surprised to realize that I'm somehow equal parts relieved and disappointed by this fact.

The boy from 4 appears next. Gale tenses infinitesimally and I look up to see his jaw twitch slightly, his expression inscrutable. It hits me for the first time - Gale killed someone today. I can't imagine how he must feel about it. I consider how I would feel if Clove's image had appeared, and don't even know how to describe the roil of emotions that go through me at that thought.

"Gale…" I whisper quietly, squeezing his fingers that are interlaced with mine, but he glances down at me and shakes his head. _Not now_, his eyes say, before he turns his gaze back to the sky.

I sigh, but do the same. The boy from District 5 is next, then both tributes from 6 and 7. I feel a brief pang of grief at that - the two from 7 were always kind to us, and were among those that spoke of us during their interviews. But maybe it's better this way, for them to have gone out quickly rather than have their suffering prolonged.

The boy from 8 appears, then both from 9. I was right, the boy who was killed in front of me was from District 9. I frown as I recall the way he grabbed me, just before the knife flew into his back. If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have known the boy from 4 was there. It might have - probably would have - been me on the fatal end of that knife. It seems impossible, but thinking back on it, I could swear he had been trying to warn me. I'll never know now though.

The last image to appear is the girl from District 10, then the seal floats in the sky again for a few seconds as a musical flourish closes out the presentation. I'm impressed that the boy from 10 with the bad foot made it through the day. He must have made a run for it as soon as the gong sounded. I'm also glad Rue and Thresh are still alive, if not particularly surprised. They're both fighters, in their own very different ways.

The sounds of the forest resume around us. Gale is still sitting stiffly behind me. I unwind my fingers to stroke his palm, knowing he'll speak when he's ready.

Finally he says quietly, flatly, "You were right. It is different."

I'm confused for a moment until I remember our argument on the train; how I took exception to his assertion that hunting people couldn't be that different than hunting animals.

Things seemed so much simpler then, as unlikely as that sounds. Maybe I was right, but Gale's been right too - killing is the whole point of the Games, something that we can't avoid. We don't have to enjoy it and we don't have to revel in it, but we do have to accept it. If I'd had to, I know I would have killed Clove today. And I wouldn't love myself for it, but I wouldn't hate myself for it either. We are now fighting a war on numerous fronts here - it's inevitable that we'll end up being responsible for some casualties.

"You saved my life," I whisper back tenderly. It's the only thing I can think of to say that might help.

Gale nods. "And I'd do it again," he replies fiercely, the tension finally leaking out of him. "You saved my life too," he adds after a pause.

"Then I guess we're even," I answering, smiling softly.

Gale chuckles and I twist in his arms enough to lean my head back, tilting my face up to his. He bends down to kiss me deeply. When we pull apart I brush my lips along his jaw before settling back in his arms. He burrows his face back into the curve of my neck and shoulder, pressing his lips firmly against the soft skin there.

We curl around each other as best we can, given that we are sitting tied to a tree, and I close my eyes, gladly slipping into a deep sleep.

* * *

I awake with a start a few hours later, the sky still dark overhead. I stay perfectly still as I wait for any indication of what it was that interrupted my sleep. After a few seconds I hear it again - _*snap*, *snap*. _This is not the sound of a twig snapping underfoot, but someone deliberately snapping branches from a tree or into smaller pieces. It's coming from our right, perhaps 200 yards away.

Gale squeezes my hand, letting me know he's awake as well, and together we search silently for the source of the disturbance.

After a few minutes of scuffling sounds in the darkness, we spot a spark and then a small fire blooming.

"_Idiot_," Gale hisses angrily below his breath, right next to my ear.

I can't say that I disagree. By now the Careers will have had hours to work their way through the woods, searching for victims, and they'll be both well-fed and well-armed with their spoils from the Cornucopia. And now some moron has lit a fire, a beacon in the darkness - they might as well have a just shot a flare into the sky in the shape of an arrow pointing at their location. A location that happens to be uncomfortably close to ours.

I'm almost tempted to hop out of the tree and give the poor fool one of our sleeping bags to keep warm in if they'll promise to get the hell out of here and not do something so stupid again. Though of course, that would only expose me to more danger. Not to mention, whoever this is shouldn't be rewarded for their ineptitude.

I fume silently for a few minutes, then Gale murmurs against my ear, so quietly I doubt anyone could hear him even if they were standing directly in front of us, "Go back to sleep. I'll keep watch."

I hesitate, knowing he needs the rest as much as I do, and not wanting to leave him stuck strapped in a tree with my unconscious body between him and any potential attackers. But finally I decide that we should at least try to get what rest we can, and will have to trust in the trees to conceal us regardless.

I wrap one hand around the back of his head, tugging him down gently so that his ear is next to my mouth. I whisper as quietly as I can, "Fine, but take the bow. Wake me in an hour and we'll switch."

He doesn't argue or even respond, just unwinds his left arm to grab the bow and arrows from their perch, resting them lightly atop my thighs. I close my eyes again and will myself to relax enough to drop back into a light slumber.

* * *

When I open my eyes again, I can feel the first signs of dawn approaching and realize that Gale never did wake me to switch off on the watch.

I scowl up at him and he shrugs unapologetically. "You needed it," he murmurs.

I roll my eyes and open my mouth to argue, but snap it shut again when I hear several pairs of footsteps approaching from a distance. The firestarter has been discovered.

I tense, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. Gale passes me the bow and sheath of arrows, then unties the rope around our waists so that we can move again. I fold the sleeping bag back, hoping the slight rustling sound it makes will be indistinguishable from the usual noises of the forest. Gale grabs the belt of knives, securing it across his chest. I slide forward carefully on the branch to give him enough throwing room, and he moves up into a low crouch at the widest part of the branch, where it meets the tree, prepared to turn around if we are attacked from behind. I strap the sheath onto my back and silently pull one arrow free. I load my bow and grip it tightly, ready to fire if I need to.

And then we wait.


	21. Out of the Frying Pan

**A/N**: So I feel like I should probably warn you guys now, that I've developed a serious fondness for cliffhangers in the chapters that take place during the Games. Not all of them end in one, but a bunch of them do. So I'll make you guys a deal - I promise to update quickly, if you guys promise not to yell at me too much for them, okay? :)

Thank you again to everyone reading and reviewing!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own 'The Hunger Games.'

* * *

**Chapter 20 - Out of the Frying Pan…**

It's not long before we hear the approaching footsteps break into a run. Gale tightens his grip on his knife and I pull the string on my bow just a bit tauter.

But the attackers aren't heading towards our tree - instead we hear them come to a stop near the person who started the fire.

The firestarter is a girl, we learn, when she begins begging for her life. She must have dozed off, and now they have her surrounded. Her pleas are answered only by cruel laughter and soon even that is drowned out by her agonized screams. I cringe at the heart-wrenching sound, but force myself to remain steady. They could be coming for us next and I can't be distracted by whatever pity I might feel for this poor, dumb girl.

I run a quick inventory of the female tributes in my head, to block out the sounds of torment. (I'm sure Cato must be involved in this - he seems like the type to enjoy dragging the pain out.) The girls from 3, 6, 7, 9 and 10 are already dead. Glimmer, Clove, and the girl from 4 are probably among the torturers. Foxface, from 5, wouldn't have been foolish enough to have lit that fire; neither would Rue. That only leaves the girl from 8.

The screams cut off abruptly, and the cannon booms a moment later. She's dead now. I'm oddly relieved - no one should have to suffer the way she was.

The pack erupts again in laughter and shouts of congratulation. Someone, Glimmer I think, cries triumphantly, "Twelve down!"

Gale flinches, no doubt remembering how he had made a similar remark to me during the interviews. The two situations don't really seem comparable to me.

The voices get close enough for me to start recognizing individuals. Marvel and Cato are arguing over what direction to go next. I hope fervently that they pick one away from Gale's snares. Those are a dead giveaway that there's someone else nearby, since it's unlikely they'd think the girl from 8 who was careless enough to light a fire in the middle of the night would know how to set effective traps.

I pick out Glimmer mocking the unfortunate girl's stupidity, and even though I agree with her in principle, it still gets my hackles up to hear the callous way she speaks of the dead. She seems to be talking to Clove, who doesn't sound interested in the trash talk, but does complain about the lack of worthwhile supplies the girl had. _Vultures_, I think disgustedly.

My heart is in my throat as the pack comes to a stop less than 50 feet from where Gale and I are perched, just at the edge of the willow clump that, along with the lingering dark of night, is the only thing shielding us from their view. I peek quickly at Gale - he's crouched tensely, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Through the branches I can make out the odd limb here and there and I shift carefully, trying to get a good enough look to determine how many of them there are. They have flashlights and torches, which helps illuminate them. Hopefully their light isn't powerful enough - and I am well-hidden enough - to catch me in their glare.

The whole group is now arguing about which way to go. They're looking for us, I realize, when Marvel sarcastically comments that they should try "looking in the dirt; where else would a couple of Seam rats hide?"

From my current vantage point, I actually have a pretty clear shot at him, and I'm so angry that I almost take it. Gale's hand closes over my wrist as though he's read my mind, stopping me in time. If I fire I'll give away our position, and we know they outnumber us at least two-to-one.

_Make that three-to-one,_ I discover a moment later when I'm finally able to get a good view of the group. The girl from 4 is with them as well, unsurprisingly. But I'm shocked to see Foxface, the torchlight reflecting off her bright red hair, standing amongst the Career pack.

She had always been quiet during training, watching everyone and everything with a keen, calculating gaze. However, she had also been one of the first to join our table that third day at lunch, when all of the regulars sat together, and I never saw her look at the Careers with anything but disdain. I wonder if this had been her strategy all along, or if she was only with them now as a matter of necessity, to ensure her own survival a bit longer. She seems cunning enough to have made it on her own - if anything I'd think working in the pack would be more difficult for her. There's also the question of what they're getting from her, to make it worth keeping her alive.

Coming from District 5, she can't be doing herself any favours with the audience back home. If they're anything like the people in 12, they despise the Careers for being overly vicious, arrogant, better-fed Capitol-lapdogs. Something extremely peculiar is going on here; that's the only thing I'm sure of.

I glance again at Gale and I'm sure he's seen her too, based on the way his features are twisted in confusion.

The pack stands around arguing for a couple more minutes before finally deciding on a course; one which will take them away from Gale's snares, much to my relief. They head off at a run, passing the willow clump on the opposite side from where we are situated. They're gone not a moment too soon, as the sky finally begins to lighten with the first rays of dawn.

Gale and I wait a few more minutes, making sure they aren't planning to circle back, then we retrieve our backpacks and load up our supplies. We're preparing to climb down when suddenly all the birds fall silent, just like that day in the woods when we saw the Avox girl get captured. One of the birds lets out a single low note, a warning to the others of approaching danger. I know the incoming hovercraft is not there for us, but I still feel a rush of irrational terror.

The hovercraft materializes and a set of large metal teeth drop down. They close gently around the dead girl's body, then lift her up inside. It vanishes and the birds resume singing a moment later.

I breathe deeply, steadying myself, then look over at Gale. His expression is calm, but there is a haunted look to his eyes that takes longer to fade. There are so many things we can never unsee; unhear; undo. And there will only be more before this is over.

We can't linger here any longer. "Ready?" he asks me, and I nod.

Our position among the trees, combined with our dark clothing and the black of night, will have made it difficult for the cameras to get a good shot of us. But they'll be tracking us now, and the second we hit the ground, we are guaranteed a close-up. The audience will be beside themselves, knowing that we were in the tree and only narrowly avoided a confrontation with the Careers. They will know that we now know we are being hunted by the pack. We cannot appear rattled or frightened by the near-miss; that'd make us seem weak. Instead I school my features into a calm, but determined expression. Gale does the same.

He climbs down ahead of me, taking a cautious look around before waving me down. Rather than drop right to the ground as I normally would, I pivot on a low branch, just about the same height as Gale's head and brace my hands on his shoulders. He grabs my waist and I hop lightly down as he holds me steady, then leans in for quick kiss for the cameras. I imagine the people in the Capitol, fluttering with glee at our little show.

As we step out from the cluster of trees, I can't help but glance in the direction of the spot where the girl from 8 died. Tendrils of smoke are wafting up in the air from the remains of her fire. The grass is trampled where the pack ran over it. Blood stains the ground where they tortured her. I'm glad my stomach is empty, because it turns violently at the sight, her screams echoing in my head.

Gale squeezes my hand, bringing me back to the present. I turn away from the gruesome scene. Gale's looking at me sadly when I meet his gaze. I cast one last unhappy look at the murder site, wishing there was something I could do; knowing there isn't. Then I force myself to shake it off, and take Gale's hand, ready to leave it behind us.

We decide to check the snares Gale set up last night. It's a bit of a risk with the others nearby, but we saw them leave in the opposite direction, and the possibility of fresh meat is too much to pass up. All four traps are full. We end up with one squirrel and three rabbits, enough to tide us over for the day.

We have our catches cleaned and gutted before we remember that we can't possibly set a fire now. The pack is still too close, and they'd be sure to see the smoke on this sunny, cloudless day. But eating them raw isn't really an option either - if either of us got rabbit fever, we'd be sick for days. We definitely can't take that risk. Gale points out that the girl from 8's embers might still be hot enough to cook them. I don't want to go back there, but we don't have much choice, so I reluctantly agree.

It seems that the Gamemakers have some means of cleaning up the mess after a tribute dies violently, because the grass around the fire is free of blood when we return and a fresh layer of pine needles covers the area. Fortunately they haven't disturbed the remains of the fire, and the embers are indeed still hot enough. We cut up the game into small pieces so that the meat will cook faster, fashion two spits, and set them over the coals.

When the meat is ready, I insist on moving away to eat. I can't stand to be at this spot any longer. I reapply a layer of charcoal to my backpack, then we hide the evidence we were here. We head back under one of the willows to have breakfast. Gale cuts off two pieces of the plastic square in his backpack and wraps up the leftovers in them when we're done, to save for later today.

We allow ourselves a few sips of water, but not too much - we'll need it more later in the afternoon, when the sun is high in the sky and the air is at its hottest.

When we're ready to head out, we realize we have the same problem that the Career pack did - we have no idea which direction to go, other than away from the one that they did.

"We need to find water. Today," I state from where I'm sitting on a thick root of the tree we ate next to. We probably have enough to last us until tomorrow morning, assuming we don't have to go on any long runs. But if we run into the Careers or wander into some trap of the Gamemakers and have to sprint for safety we'll be out of water by tonight - assuming we survive that long, of course.

"I know," Gale replies, standing a few feet from me and surveying the area around us with his hands on his hips. He glances back at me. "Any suggestions on how to do that?"

"Water flows downhill," is all I have to offer.

He kicks a rock in a random direction, and I watch it roll down and away from us. "So does every other damn thing here," he grumbles irritably.

"Well there has to be water somewhere nearby. All the snares were full - that's too many animals in one spot to be surviving without a water source," I point out reasonably. "If we could find a trail…"

"With the stupid pine needles covering inch of the ground? Not likely," he interrupts dismissively, looking off in the distance again as though the answer will magically appear somewhere on the horizon. If only it were that easy.

"Well then what do you suggest we do?" I ask, more peevishly than I meant to. I don't have the answer any more than he does, but at least I'm trying.

"I don't know!" he huffs. "Try a rain dance?" I roll my eyes at that one, and he deflates a bit, but is still obviously frustrated. "What do _you_ suggest we do?"

I sigh, and get off the root, striding over to stand in front of him. He looks at me in confusion as I grab onto either side of his jacket and pull him down to me. I press my mouth to his, softly at first, then more insistently, running my tongue along the seam of his lips until his mouth opens to me. I feel the tension leave his body as he sinks into the kiss, pulling me firmly against him, and for a few moments there is nothing in the world but the two of us.

Eventually I pull back and Gale looks at me, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and murmurs, "What was that about?"

"It was a reminder," I answer softly. He quirks an eyebrow questioningly and I go on: "Out here the only things we can count on are our instincts and each other." Recognition flashes in his eyes, remembering his words on the roof from the morning before training started. "So forget about everything except us. Now what's your gut instinct telling you to do?"

He smirks at me for a split second and then his lips are colliding with mine, kissing me fervently. I moan as his tongue strokes mine and fist my fingers in his hair, forgetting about the cameras and the Careers and everything else except the way Gale tastes and feels.

I'm breathless when we finally separate. Gale eyes me happily me as I pull myself together, flustered but clearly pleased with himself. After I minute a manage to mutter, "I don't think your _gut_ had much to do with that." I try to sound annoyed, but I know my pleased blush gives me away.

Gale chuckles and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I lean my head against his chest for a moment as he takes another look around. When he releases me, he inclines his head in a direction somewhere between where the pack originally approached from this morning and where we had set up the snares. "Say we try going that way?" he suggests, holding out a hand to me.

"Say we do," I agree wryly, slipping my hand in his and letting him lead the way.

* * *

As the afternoon sun beats down on us, I'm beginning to question the wisdom of my trust-our-instincts plan.

We've been walking for hours - about eight, as far as I can tell - pausing only a couple of times for short rests, and still there's been no sign of water. Just the same damn forest, with the same damn downward slope that somehow never seems to end. I'm starting to wonder if the intense heat isn't from the sun at all, but because the Gamemakers have somehow constructed the Arena to go down into the Earth's molten core.

Gale and I shoved our jackets into our backpacks hours ago, and have our pants rolled up to the knees to get some measure of relief. We're rationing our water as carefully as we can, but with this heat, we'll be out by nightfall.

We're trudging along through a cluster of trees that looks just like every other cluster of trees until it suddenly opens into a small clearing. After a few steps, I stop in my tracks.

Gale looks at me in alarm. "What? What's wrong?"

I shake my head, and inhale deeply. "Do you smell that?"

He stands still and does the same. "It smells like … flowers?" he answers hesitantly.

Gale's never been as good at recognizing plants as I am. My father had a book, that contained pictures and detailed descriptions of all types of plants - flowers, herbs, berries, shrubs, and the like. When I was young, we'd bring it to the woods with us sometimes, and he'd teach me how to recognize all kinds of different species: by sight, by touch, and by smell.

"Lilies," I correct, smiling as I look around hopefully, trying to find the source of the scent.

"Oooookay," Gale says slowly, his eyes tracking my movements curiously as I start walking quickly along the edges of the clearing. "And that's good because…?"

I find what I'm looking for about ten yards from the point where we first entered the clearing, on the opposite side. My feet sink gently into the soft ground. A couple feet further and the grass and pine needles give way to actual, honest-to-goodness mud. I push apart some tangled plants and there it is - a small pond, beautiful yellow pond lilies in bloom along the surface.

Gale approaches me, and his whole face lights up when he sees what I've revealed. "Because lilies mean water," I grin triumphantly, if unnecessarily.

Gale laughs and sweeps me up in his arms, planting a quick, victorious kiss on my mouth. Then we set to work. We finish off the rest of the water in our bottles, since we're both thirsty and can actually afford to do that now. Then we fill them with pond water and add the appropriate number of iodine drops to purify it, setting them aside to wait the necessary half hour for the iodine to do its job.

My next task is to camouflage my backpack's day-glo orange colour. I smear every inch of it with mud, and set it out in the sun to dry.

Then I wade into the water a ways to dig up the roots of some of the pond lilies - they're edible and actually don't taste terrible when roasted. Meanwhile, Gale's fashioned a spear out of a long, narrow branch and uses it to catch a few fish from the pond.

By the time we're done, the sun is hanging low in the sky. We gather our stuff and leave the clearing, going back in the direction we came from. Once we've traveled about half an hour, we build a small fire and cook the fish and roots. When we're done eating, we take care to destroy any evidence of our presence and head back towards the clearing, looking for a spot to spend the night.

We find a tightly packed copse of solid oak trees about 20 minutes from the pond on the opposite side of the clearing. They don't offer as much coverage as the willows did, but the trees grow taller and the branches are sturdier, even higher up. We settle on a thick branch about 40 feet off the ground.

We strap ourselves in, the same as last night, although this time we only bother with one of the sleeping bags on top of our legs. There are no nearby branches to hang our gear on, so instead we belt our packs into the rope around my waist, resting them on top of our legs. The bow stays in my hands, as tonight we've decided to do alternating guard shifts. Since Gale let me sleep longer than he should have this morning, I insisted on taking the first watch.

The Capitol seal appears in the sky once darkness falls, and the anthem begins to play. There is only one face to show tonight, the girl from 8, and the black of night returns quickly.

"'Night Catnip," Gale murmurs against my shoulder, then falls asleep almost instantly. It never ceases to amaze me how easily he can do that - I swear he could fall asleep in the middle of a brush fire.

A few hours later I'm forced to wonder in horror if the Capitol hasn't developed some sort of mind-reading technology and has decided to put that theory to the test, when a wall of fire suddenly lights up the night.


	22. Into the Fire

**A/N:** Thank you again everyone for reading, and for all your amazing feedback! I can't wait to hear what you guys think about this one :)

Quick note to claireleanne - apparently you and Gale think alike ;)

**Disclaimer: **Same as always. Still don't own 'The Hunger Games'.

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**Chapter 21 - … Into the Fire**

One minute the night was ink black, only a few scarce beams of moonlight penetrating the canopy of the forest. Then in an instant the entire forest was illuminated by a massive wall of roiling orange fire, maybe 300 yards away and bearing down on us quickly.

For a split-second I sit stunned, then the adrenaline kicks in and I snap into action.

"Gale!" I say sharply, shaking him awake.

"Whaaaa…" he mutters blearily, before the glare of the inferno catches his attention. "Oh _shit!_"

Gale tugs the knot of the rope securing us to the tree loose. I whip off the sleeping bag covering our legs, toss my backpack on and swing down to the next branch. He shoves the rope and sleeping bag haphazardly into his pack, throwing it over his shoulders and hurrying after me.

We scramble down the tree as fast as we can manage without falling out, and hit the ground running. By the time we're back on the forest floor the wall of flame is less than 50 yards away.

The world around us transforms into nothing but flame and smoke. I hear burning branches crack and tumble to the ground behind us, far too close for comfort. All the creatures of the forest are fleeing madly through the night - rabbits and squirrels and deer and even a pack of wild dogs swarming past us. We follow the path they set, trusting their instincts more than ours to lead us to safety. But the animals are faster and more sure-footed than we could ever hope to be on the uneven terrain, and I know we won't be able to keep up with them.

The heat at our backs is oppressive, the fire warming the metal of the bow in my hands almost painfully. But I refuse to let it go. The smoke is everywhere, making it nearly impossible to see or breathe. I pull my shirt up over my nose, the sweat-soaked fabric providing some measure of relief - but not much. All I can do is keep running and hope that _this _will not last longer than I can.

This raging inferno is no accident. The fire is too high, its path to uniform to be some tribute's campfire gone out of control. No, the Gamemakers are the only ones that could be responsible for this. What I can't figure out is _why_ - they usually save these tricks for later in the Games, when the tributes are spread far and wide around the Arena and things have been dull for too long and the audience is getting bored. It's only the second day, and there was a brutal death this morning - it's strangely early for this kind of stunt.

My foot catches suddenly on a root that I couldn't see through the haze and I go sprawling. I drop my bow - luckily the sheath of arrows is inside my backpack so I don't lose those as well - and roll a few times, coming to stop several feet away from my weapon.

"Katniss!" Gale yells as I fall.

I'm back on my feet quickly and I look at where my bow is lying. It's between me and the fire now - retrieving it means running back towards the flames.

"Leave it!" Gale shouts, but I can't - I almost died to get that weapon; I'm not giving it up now. I race back and scoop it up quickly, hissing as the heat of the metal burns my hands.

I'm running back towards him, coughing violently since my fall dislodged my shirt from my face, when I hear the first hiss and a ball of fire blasts into the ground between Gale and I.

We both dive out of the way, in opposite directions, and then there are two more blasts into the empty space between us and we are forced to roll further apart to stay out of harm's way. A third blast comes, three fireballs this time, again placed exactly between us and now I understand the point of this gimmick - the Gamemakers mean to separate us.

The dual bows at the Cornucopia didn't lure us apart as the Gamemakers (or maybe this was an order straight from President Snow himself) had hoped, so now they're using the fire to get it done. And it's working - we'd be incinerated instantly by the steady barrage of fireballs if either of us dared to try to cross back to the other.

Another hiss comes and I flatten myself to the ground, rolling hard to my left. The fireball explodes against a tree maybe two feet to my right, igniting the whole thing in a violent flash. When I get up again, sprinting as fast as my feet can carry me, I risk a glance to my right and realize I can't even see Gale anymore. The wall of flames seems to be moving on an angle now, cutting us off completely from each other, forcing me further and further to the left while Gale is no doubt being driven to the right. I draw in a breath to scream his name, but retch painfully instead, the smoke too thick and acrid to even attempt to form words.

I collapse to my hands and knees, vomiting the entire contents of my stomach and an acidic substance that burns my throat and nose as my body tries to rid itself of the poison I've inhaled. I only have a moment to recover myself because I hear another hiss, and I am up and running again.

I don't know how long or far I run. I'm being driven into a part of the woods I haven't seen before. The trees are thinner here, both in size and distribution. Large rocks litter the ground and it's a small miracle that I haven't tripped on one yet. The fireball attacks have been coming less frequently, and I'm beginning to hope that I might be reaching the end of this part of the Arena. Years of watching the Games have taught me that certain sections of the Arena are often rigged for specific attacks. If I can just get beyond this portion, the fire should stop and I can try to figure out a way to get back to Gale.

I stop mid-stride when I hear something that fills every inch of my body with dread, freezing me in place - over the roar of the inferno, the muffled blast of the cannon booms out.

It could be anyone. On some level I know this. There are 10 other people besides Gale in the Arena; any one of them could have died in any number of ways. But all I can think about is Gale. Gale, who was forced away from me. Gale, who I haven't seen for miles. Gale, who's also being targeted by fiery blasts of death.

Gale could be dead. _Gale. Dead. "GALE!"_ I shriek and then I scream in agony because I didn't hear the hiss of the fireball as it launched and only knew it was there when it skidded along my right calf, setting my pant leg on fire.

It's almost good that I was so distracted because I react on pure instinct, dropping to the ground and rolling to smother the flames the way my father taught me to do when I was learning how to build a fire as a child. I reach for the fabric to rip it open but stop myself in time, the sting of my hands when I flex them reminding me of the light burns already striping my palms from my bow. I shrug my backpack off instead and dig out the water, pouring some onto the material over the burn to stop it smoldering and then taking a few sips to relieve the dry, acrid stinging in my throat.

I sit on the ground for a few minutes in a shocked daze. All I seem to be able to do is wonder whether it was Cinna's "tributes on fire" designs, or my own comment on the train that we would burn, that brought on this particular torture. The Gamemakers must be very proud of their own cleverness right now.

I hope the rebellion burns them all to ashes.

The attack is over now. The wall of fire shrank out of existence shortly after I got hit in the leg, although the ruins of the forest are still flickering with flames. I need to get moving - undoubtedly I'm not the only tribute that's been led to this area by the blaze; what would be the fun in that? But Gale might be dead. And I can't bring myself to care about anything else right now.

The smoke is still thick around me. I can barely see more than a couple feet in front of me. Anyone could stumble across me right now, sitting here like a sacrificial lamb, trussed up by the Gamemakers, ready for the slaughter.

Except I am not quite ready to be slaughtered. Not yet. This realization finally propels me to my feet. I gather up my things and begin limping slowly away from the charred ruins of the forest where the wall of flame stood only minutes ago.

The pain in my calf is some of the most excruciating I've ever experienced. I've always hated burns, more than any other type of injury. Ironic, then, that I'd end up as the girl who was on fire - figuratively and literally.

I'm walking in a stupor, numb from pain and fear and exhaustion and the all-consuming terror that it was Gale's death that cannon signified. I don't even realize I've wandered into a pool until I'm ankle-deep. The water is blissfully cool, fed by a spring bubbling up from between some rocks. I set my belongings carefully on the shore and sit at the edge. The relief I feel when I stick my hands in the water is instantaneous and I simply let them dangle there for a long while, occasionally splashing the cool water against my face to wash off the ash and dirt and blood from when I fell. I refill my water bottle and force myself to eat a few bites of leftover lily root and rabbit to settle my stomach, which is still churning from the vile air created by the fire attack.

Eventually I work up the courage to look at my leg. I peel back the material of my pants carefully, bracing myself for the horror that may await me. I relax a bit when I see it - it's bad, but not nearly as bad as I'd feared. The skin is a dark, angry pink colour, covered in blisters. The burned area is about the size of my hand and the flesh there is unnaturally smooth and painfully tight. But there are no chunks of flesh missing and none of the skin is black, and I know from years of seeing my mother heal all manner of the burns frequently received by the miners that it could be far worse. I twist my leg so that the injured portion is covered in the cool water, and lean back against the rocky edge of the pool.

As the pool soothes the sting in my leg, the numbness that had settled over me starts to fade. Images keep flashing in my mind. The wall of fire appearing out of nowhere. Running frantically through the woods, Gale beside me. Falling and dropping the bow. Gale yelling at me to leave it. The first blast of fire that drove us apart. If I had just left the bow …

_Why didn't I just leave the damn bow?_

Tears flood my eyes as I'm overwhelmed with grief and guilt and fear, the cannon blast echoing in my memory. I try to choke it down, not wanting to appear weak. But it's no use - nothing could stop the wracking sobs that seize my entire body.

I give myself two minutes to cry, my head buried in my hands in a half-hearted attempt to muffle the sounds of my breakdown. Every sob is a signal to anyone who might be nearby that there is easy prey close at hand. When my self-appointed time is up, I suck in a deep breath and plunge my head into the pool, using the cold blast of the water to shock me out of my emotional state.

I remind myself sternly that I don't actually know that the cannon blast was for Gale and if it wasn't, and I get picked off because I was too busy blubbering over him to notice someone approaching, he'll find a way to have me resurrected just so he can kill me himself for being so foolish.

Next I gather up my things, preparing myself to move on. I pull the arrow sheath out of the backpack and settle it over my shoulders on top of my bag, knowing I may need to defend myself. I've been here for too long already and the smoke has been steadily clearing, making it easier for someone to spot me. I'm sorely tempted to stay here - the relief of the cool pool water is difficult to give up, and if Gale is alive and looking for me, he'll have better luck if I stay in one spot. But for all I know, he's thinking the same thing, or is stuck somewhere, injured worse than I am. Even if he is alright and on the move, there's a smoldering wasteland between us now - who knows how long it might take him to find this part of the Arena. No, I'll have a better chance of finding him if I make my way back to somewhere familiar, where he's more likely to return.

No sooner have I made this decision than I hear approaching footsteps - too many pairs for them to belong to anyone other than the Career pack. I'm on my feet in a heartbeat, leaping and splashing across the pool; flying into the underbrush. My leg is slowing me down, the skin pulling painfully with every step I take. But from the coughing and rasping of my pursuers, I know they've been affected by the fire too and aren't as speedy as they were before.

Even still, I'm seriously outnumbered and it's just a matter of time before they close in on me. As I run, I look around for a tree, any tree, to climb; but none of the ones growing in this section are any good for that. Their trunks are too thin and their branches are too narrow to support even my slight weight. Rue maybe could manage in them, but not me.

I run as fast as I can in my injured, exhausted state, but the pack is getting nearer and I realize with a sinking feeling that I'm not going to be able to avoid a confrontation. I stop looking only for a tree and just attempt to find anything that I can scale to at least give me the high ground. Finally I spot a large boulder, maybe eight feet high, sitting atop a slight incline in the ground. I scramble up it, the burn on my calf flaring in agony as it scrapes against the rough surface, and load my bow, aiming in the direction of the pack. I force my features into a neutral expression and my limbs to remain steady, not wanting to give away any sign that I'm hurt or afraid.

I can see them coming through the sparse trees and a moment later they emerge onto the small dirt patch in front of my boulder, Cato at the lead. He slows to a casual stroll when he sees me standing on the boulder, and the others do the same. He comes to a stop about ten yards from me. Marvel and Glimmer fan out beside him, with Clove and the girl from 4 behind them. Clove seems to be favouring her left leg a bit, but doesn't show any other sign of being affected by the injury from when I shot her. The Cornucopia must have had some medication in it to speed the healing.

Foxface brings up the rear of the pack, standing slightly behind the others. I can't help but feel a stab of betrayal when I look at her, even though I know objectively she never owed me any allegiance. But she should at least owe the people of her district some loyalty, and working with the Careers is at least as much of an affront to them as it is to me; more probably. I realize I'm glaring at her, and she meets my eyes, her expression inscrutable.

"Well, well," Marvel drawls, snapping my attention to him. "What happened to Loverboy?"

My shoulders lift in a casual shrug, giving away nothing. "He's around."

I try to determine how many of them I could take out before they swarmed me - two I think, maybe three if all the shots were fatal. Of course all they'd need is one well-placed knife and it wouldn't matter. Glimmer has a throwing knife in each hand and I remember her deadly accuracy during training - I don't like my chances.

Cato and Marvel exchange a quick look, then grin viciously, baring their teeth like wolves. "I don't think he is," Cato answers. "I think he's dead."

The words send a pang of grief through me, hearing my worst fear voiced aloud, but I banish immediately.

"I'm surprised you're familiar with the concept," I reply lightly. I need to keep them talking, buy myself time to figure out how to get out of this mess alive.

"Of death?" Cato laughs derisively.

"Of _thinking_," I smirk back.

His eyes narrow dangerously. "You're just _so_ clever," he growls scornfully. "Let's see how clever you are when I cut out your tongue."

"I don't think you'll get the chance," I answer calmly.

My attention is drawn back to Foxface, as I realize she's staring up into the trees, at something above and behind me. The others don't seem to have noticed it, their eyes fixed firmly on me. I think I hear a soft rustling and wish I could turn to see what it is, but don't dare take my eyes away from the pack in case this is some sort of distraction meant to leave me open to an ambush.

I don't think that's what's happening though. Foxface's gaze lowers, her eyes searching the area directly above the pack members standing in front of her. She looks like she's trying to find something specific; like someone has indicated there's something there she should see.

"Oh yes. Because your _boyfriend_ is going to protect you," Cato sneers, and the others laugh uproariously. I can't say I'm particularly surprised to see their sense of humour is about as well-developed as their intelligence.

Foxface finds what she's looking for and her eyes snap to mine, then flick back towards the object, gesturing to it subtly with a tilt of her head.

I laugh derisively. "Ask Marvel if I need my boyfriend to protect me," I snark. Marvel scowls, glaring hatefully at me. "I'll protect myself, thank you very much. But my boyfriend? He's going to _kill _you."

I see it then - a large wasp nest, hanging loosely from a branch, directly over the Careers' heads. I can't tell what kind of wasps they are just from the nest, but given that this is the Hunger Games, I have a strong suspicion these aren't your garden-variety stingers. In all likelihood they're tracker jackers, a muttation of the Capitol created during the war to use against the districts. Tracker jackers are larger than regular wasps and have a distinctive solid gold body. Their sting raises a lump the size of a plum on contact and releases a potent venom into the victim's body. Some people die at once from it; even if you survive they bring on horrifying hallucinations, which in some cases have been severe enough to drive people to madness. And the wasps will hunt down anyone who dares to disturb their nest.

The Capitol destroyed all the nests in the city after the war, but left the ones they had planted around the districts, a reminder of our weakness and inferiority. A few times over the years I've seen my mother try to treat someone unfortunate enough to have come across one and drawn the attention of the deadly insects inside. The effects can last for days, the victim screaming relentlessly at terrors only they can see, trapped inside the darkest parts of their own mind. In some of the worse cases, even the ones that don't lead to full-blown insanity, the person is never quite the same after the ordeal.

"Really? And tell me, how _exactly_ is he going to do that if he's not here?" Marvel smirks, bringing me back to the conversation, such as it is, at hand.

I have to shoot down that nest. It's the only chance I have to get out of this alive. But as soon as I let an arrow fly, the first volley of attack, I know Glimmer will let loose with one of her knives - she's starting to look impatient with all this back and forth. She could hit me before I have a chance to escape.

I think quickly. "Oh, he's nearby," I assure him. "He's just waiting for my signal."

I meet Foxface's eyes again under the pretense of surveying the woods around me. My expression doesn't change but she catches my intent during the brief moment our eyes meet and nods once.

Cato laughs again, cruelly. "Well go ahead! Let him join the fun. The more the merrier!"

I smile sweetly. Foxface begins to silently back away from the group, ready to flee as soon as I fire. "I couldn't agree more!" I chirp, channelling my best Effie Trinket voice.

I raise my bow high, as though I'm going to shoot into the trees. At the last second I lower it and release the arrow, diving backwards off the boulder. The buzzing and terrified screaming that fills the air tells me that my aim was true - the arrow severed the nest where it was attached to the thin branch, sending it plummeting to the ground where it burst open.

I glance up and could swear I see Rue leaping through the tree tops but I don't have time to think about that because at least a couple of the tracker jackers must have spotted me when I severed the nest, before I was hidden behind the boulder. They stung twice - once on the neck, once on the back of my hand - when I stand up to run. Immediately I feel woozy, but force my feet to move away from the chaos I can hear behind me as the Careers are swarmed by the insects.

Someone shouts "To the lake! To the lake!" and I know it must be nearby if they think they can make it to the safety of the water before the tracker jackers can catch them. I hope desperately that I'm not running in that direction and their footsteps pounding off to my right and away tells me I'm not. I veer hard left, just to be sure and run deeper into the woods.

The cannon booms then, echoing strangely in my head as the venom further loosens my grip on reality. I reach a hand up to my neck and feel a massive lump where the insect stung me. I rip the stinger out. Then I catch sight of my hand, an identical lump raised painfully on the back of it. I rip that stinger out too and the lump starts to ooze a foul-smelling green liquid.

The woods I'm running through are unfamiliar. The trees start to melt into each other and everything takes on an odd purplish colour. I don't remember anymore why I'm running; I just know that I can't stop. A bird flits across my vision and turns into a whirling firecracker. The leaves on the trees transform into hands, grabbing at me as I race by them, twisting out of their nightmarish grips. The pine needles under my feet turn to writhing snakes, crawling their way up my body, ringing my legs, my torso, my arms, my neck. The ground turns to a slide of blood and I slip down, down, down, choking, drowning. My hands claw at my neck as I lie curled in on myself, trying to unwind the snakes that are suffocating me.

Then the snakes slither into my open mouth and the darkness swallows me whole.


	23. Tell Me a Story

**A/N**: So just to give everyone a little update, I have officially written all the chapters to this story (there's 31 total, not counting the prologue). I'm probably going to stick to updating every other day because I like to edit every chapter about half a dozen times before I put it up and I wouldn't want the last few chapters to get short-changed cuz I rushed them out. But I wanted to let everyone who's been following along and enjoying this story know that you don't have to worry that I'm going to randomly disappear - it will be finished!

Thank you as always to all my amazing reviewers. You guys gave me so much motivation to keep going with this, and I couldn't have done it without you. Big *heart* to everyone!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'The Hunger Games.' I also do not own the lyrics quoted in this chapter, which come from "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol featuring Martha Wainwright.

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**Chapter 22 - Tell Me a Story**

_~And miles from where you are, I lay down on the cold ground and_

_I pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms~_

I don't know how long I spend in the nightmare world created by the tracker jacker venom. All the things I fear most are made manifest; each torment giving way to another just when I think that I have finally woken up and the ordeal is over. I see Gale and Prim die, over and over; a thousand deaths brought about through the worst forms of suffering imaginable. I watch my mother literally waste away to nothingness, the flesh rotting off her bones. I experience my father's last moments; feel myself engulfed in flames, the skin melting off my body. This is the unique torture of the tracker jacker venom, the way it's designed to activate the place where fear lives in your brain and show you all you have buried there.

When I finally do come to my senses, the first thing I'm aware of is a soft, feminine voice saying my name.

"Katniss? Katniss, can you hear me?" she asks. The voice is familiar, but I can't quite place it.

I open my eyes, blinking against the harsh light of day. The world seems sharper, more focused. I see a face hovering above mine, and she says my name again as she wipes a cool cloth against my forehead. For a minute I'm confused, trying to puzzle out why Prim's sweet wind chime voice is coming from this dark-featured girl. I think this is must be another hallucination, but then my head starts to clear and recognition dawns on me.

"Rue?" I rasp, my mouth dry and throat sore. She lights up when I speak. "Is this real?"

"It's real," she nods, smiling happily at me. "I was so worried about you."

I become aware of my body, stiff and aching, curled in on itself. My head is throbbing painfully and my memory is hazy - I'm having a hard time thinking clearly still. I force my limbs to unlock and prop myself up wearily on my elbows to take in my surroundings. We're in a denser section of the forest than where I vaguely remember being before, at the base of small ledge in the woods. I can hear a stream flowing nearby, the water lapping over the rocks. I spot my backpack and weaponry a couple of feet from me, and there are the remains of a small fire in the centre of the patch of grass I'm lying on. From the position of the sun, it seems to be late morning. But late morning of what day, I have no idea.

Rue hands me a bottle of cold water, fresh from the stream and I drink it gratefully, absolutely parched. There's a foul taste in my mouth and the water does little to help that. I grimace and Rue holds out her hand again, several mint leaves in her palm. I pop a couple in my mouth and chew them slowly, the taste of the poison fading.

"How long was I out?" I ask after the mint leaves are gone, grabbing a few more from her.

"Two days," she answers, looking at me worriedly. "You should eat something," she adds, pulling out a cracker and strip of beef from her own backpack. I take them gratefully, and make a mental note to give her some of my stash later to make up for it.

My mind is still working slowly, so all I feel is mild surprise that so much time has passed. I look down at myself, expecting to be absolutely filthy after that long, but am surprised to find that I'm actually in pretty good condition. It seems that Rue's been taking care of me, and she must have cleaned me up at some point. Maybe several points, I don't know.

"What happened?" I ask between bites of the food. I have no idea how I got here. Something is nagging at the back of my mind - there is something important, something far more important I should be asking about. But the half-formed thought fills me with dread and I push it away, not ready to deal with any more horrors.

"After you shot down the nest, the Careers - well, the ones that survived - fled back to the lake," she begins. That vaguely rings a bell. I remember the cannon blast and footsteps pounding away from me. "They got stung a lot worse than you did - I think they're probably still out of it. I followed you through the trees…"

"So I did see you up there!" I interrupt, the image of her leaping among the tree-tops coming back to me. She grins proudly and I suddenly have an idea of what she must have done to impress the Gamemakers. "Sorry, sorry, go on."

"It's okay," she says shyly, and I smile encouragingly, if still somewhat dazedly at her. "I followed you through the trees and when it was safe, I brought you here."

I frown. That doesn't make any sense. I'm not very big but there's no way tiny little Rue could have carried me for any distance. "How?"

She smiles mysteriously, reminding me acutely again of Prim. An image of Prim engulfed in flames flashes in my head; a remnant of one of my nightmares. Several of them actually. I shake myself to get rid of it - it was only a nightmare.

Rue answers enigmatically, "I know how to get help when I need it."

I puzzle over that for a moment, but then the thought is lost in the landslide as I'm suddenly flooded with images as my memory comes back, like my mind is a television broadcast being shown in reverse. Foxface fleeing after pointing out the tracker jacker nest. The confrontation with Marvel and Cato, Glimmer grinning cruelly beside them. Running from the pool. Finding the pool. Dragging myself away from the smoking wreckage of the forest. The burn on my calf. The fireball that caused the burn. The cannon blast that paralyzed me. Gale -

"Gale!" I blurt out, bolting upright in a panic. Rue jumps a little in surprise and I start babbling, "Is he okay? Do you know? There was a cannon blast during the fire and I couldn't see him, and please, _please _Rue, tell me he's okay, that the cannon wasn't for him?"

The pause between when I finish speaking and when I get an answer seems interminable, even though it can't be more than a second.

"C'mon Catnip, you didn't really think a little wildfire would be enough to take me out?"

My head snaps to the right where the new voice came from and I just about faint in relief when I see Gale hurrying down the slopping ledge towards me. Despite his cavalier tone his expression makes it clear that the last few days have been hell for him too.

Gale carelessly tosses the backpack, belt of knives, and game he had been carrying in the general direction of my supplies. Rue hops lightly away from me and I try to stand, but don't quite have the strength back in my legs yet to do so. It doesn't matter because Gale skids to a stop on his knees in front of me as I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms and legs tightly around his body as he snakes his arms around my back, holding my small frame against his sturdy one. I become aware of just how much weight I've lost over the past two days with no food as his fingers slide over my now-prominent ribs.

I bury my face in his neck. "Gale…" I choke out, "I was so worried. I thought …"

"I know Catnip," he murmurs against my ear. "I was too. Every time the cannon fired …" He cuts himself off, exhaling unsteadily before shaking his head. "And then watching you these last couple days … I was so afraid you'd never come out of it."

I lean back to look at him properly, cupping his face in my palms. There are dark circles under his eyes and I doubt he's slept at all the last few days. But other than a few scrapes and fading bruises he doesn't seem hurt. He's still the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.

"I'm okay," I whisper hoarsely. "I mean, I'm … I'm still me. I'm all here." He kisses my forehead gently and I take in a shaky breath. I dimly register Rue mumbling something about giving us some space and disappearing into the trees. "What happened to you? After the fire?"

Gale shifts to sit more comfortably on the ground, settling me in his lap and linking his hands at the base of my spine, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there gently under the hem of my shirt. I slide my palms down to his chest, drawing comfort from the steady thumping of his heart as it reassures me that he's really here, alive and well.

He begins his story: "When the fireball attack let up I was in a part of the Arena I didn't recognize. The forest and trees were gone, burned away behind me. All around me was tall, thick grass, at least eight feet high. I didn't want to go into it. Anything or anyone could have been in there and I'd have never seen it coming. But I didn't have a choice. There was nowhere else to go."

His eyes have taken on a faraway, haunted look as he talks, his grip around my waist tightening. One of the worst things for a hunter is absolute blindness. Even more so when you know you're not the only thing around hunting. It must have been horrible, knowing that at any moment some mutt of the Capitol could be on top of him, or he could be sucked into a swamp, or who knows what else could happen.

He continues, "All I could think about was finding you. I walked for hours. The entire time I could sense something near me, tracking me, but I couldn't shake it. Then I heard the cannon blast, the second one -" His voice catches and he looks down at me, and I know exactly how afraid he must have been. I only had to suffer through the uncertainty of one unknown cannon blast. He'd had to deal with two - maybe more, I realize. I have been unconscious for two days, someone else easily could have died in that time before he found me.

"I froze, for a _second_, and then it was on me. I never got a good look at it, it happened so fast, but the sound it made - and the stench …" he breaks off again, shuddering, and I fist my hands into his shirt; flooded with worry even though I know he survived.

_He's here_, I remind myself. _He's here and he's okay._

Gale shakes himself, and barrels forward, speaking quickly now. "I managed to fight it off and then it slunk back into the grass and disappeared. I felt it near me a few times, but it never attacked again. I don't know why it didn't. A bit before nightfall I reached the edge of the grass, where there was just this barren rocky hill that steeped sharply upwards. I climbed up, wanting to get the hell away from the grass before it was dark out, and when I got to the top I was back at the Cornucopia."

I tense for a second before I remember that he wouldn't have been in any danger - by then all the Careers were either dead or deep in the tracker jacker hell. The Cornucopia was probably one of the safest places in the entire Arena at that point.

"I climbed back down a ways and moved sideways along the rock-face, until I was at the edge of the woods. Then I crept up again, to get a look at their set-up there. It was stupid, but I was exhausted and hungry and out of water and out of my mind with worry about you, and I thought maybe I might be able to sneak in and swipe some supplies from them." He grimaces slightly, presumably at the memory of this ill-conceived plan.

"I could see four of them, apparently passed out, by the lake. I didn't know yet what had happened during the day, so I didn't know just how deeply they were out, but they were all deathly still. Halfway between the lake and the woods was a huge pile of supplies - all the food and water and fuel and equipment that had been left at the Cornucopia after the bloodbath, stacked neatly out in the open."

"That's odd," I mumble absently.

Gale nods. "I thought so too. I knew it must be rigged with some sort of trap, but I wasn't really in my right head. I decided to try to get closer, to see if I could figure out what the trap was and how to get around it. The ones by the lake didn't seem to be moving and I figured I could run back into the woods quickly enough to get away if they did."

He's looking at me warily, probably waiting for me to berate him for being so reckless. But I just don't have it in me right now. Not after I started all this because I wouldn't give up my bow. Which I know is an irrational belief - the Gamemakers would have found a way to drive us apart somehow sooner or later, and if I hadn't had my bow I almost certainly would have died when the Career pack cornered me - but I still can't help feeling guilty about the whole thing.

"Go on," I urge softly.

He frowns ruefully, "I made it maybe 30 feet out of the tree line before I spotted something moving in the corner of my eye. I looked over and the boy from District 3 was standing there holding a spear, in front of the supply pile."

"The boy from 3 is working with the Careers?" I ask incredulously. I'm not sure whether I'm more surprised that he'd be helping them, or that they'd be helping him. What on earth would they be getting from him to make it worth keeping him alive?

"That's the strange thing," Gale replies, as befuddled as I am. "I mean, it's strange that he's working with them, yes. But what was even stranger was that when he saw me, he didn't attack or even alert the others - although, knowing now what had happened to them, I suppose that wouldn't have done him much good. Instead he shook his head and pointed insistently at the woods, warning me off. I decided I had pressed my luck enough, so I started to head back into the trees. But _then_, as I was walking back, I heard this thump beside me and I looked down and there was a full bottle of water there, that he had tossed to me. When I turned back to him he just nodded once, then retreated back to the lake."

I'm gaping at him by the time he finishes. "Did you drink it?"

Gale furrows his brow in confusion. "Well, yeah. I was parched and the only water source I knew about then had been vaporized by the fire."

"How did you know it wouldn't be poisoned?" I demand. Evidently I do have it in me to get irritated with him for being reckless after all. I must be feeling better.

He shrugs, replying with certainty, "I just knew."

I relax a little, thinking of Foxface helping me by pointing out the tracker jacker nest even though she seemed to be working with the Careers. And I realize it must have been Rue that pointed out the nest to her; that the rustling noise I heard above me must have been Rue moving in the tree-tops. Which means Rue knew that Foxface could be trusted. And now the boy from 3 is apparently involved as well. Clearly there's a hell of a lot more going on here than we know.

But Rue's still off in the woods, so we'll have to wait to get some answers from her. Instead I ask Gale, "So how did you find me?"

He smiles then, chuckling at the memory. "It was full dark by then and I had just gotten back in the woods when the seal appeared in the sky. I stopped to see who had died that day -"

"Who did die that day?" I cut in abruptly, suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity. "I know the tracker jacker nest took out one of the Careers but I don't know who. Or who the cannon during the fire was for. Or if anyone else has died since then, for that matter."

Gale raises an eyebrow in amusement at my rambling. I normally don't ramble this much. But I do seem to be doing it a lot today. I blame the after-effects of the tracker jacker venom. "The boy from 10 was the cannon during the fire. We think he got caught in the path of the blaze, and couldn't run away fast enough."

A completely illogical wave of guilt rushes over me - that fire was meant for us. That poor boy died a horrible death because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time; collateral damage in our battle of wills with the Capitol. I tell myself that he never could have made it out of here anyway; that no matter what he would have had to die. Still, I wish I hadn't been responsible for his death, however indirectly.

"From what Rue tells me, the other one that day died from your tracker jacker assault," Gale continues. "The girl from 4."

I think for a minute about how I feel about that. I don't really know much about the girl, other than that she seemed more than happy to do Cato's bidding. Which certainly would have included killing me. I can't say that I'm not relieved she's gone, leaving us with one less Career to deal with.

"Good," I finally mutter quietly.

Gale looks mildly surprised by my reaction, but doesn't comment. "There hasn't been anyone else since then. Anyway, when I saw that you weren't dead I was so relieved I just about collapsed right there. I was leaning against a tree while I pulled myself together when all of a sudden someone dropped right out of it in front of me."

"Rue," I grin knowingly.

He grins back, somewhat wryly. "She's a stealthy little thing. Just about startled me to death." That's really saying something, because it's nearly impossible to sneak up on Gale - even I can only manage to do it on the rarest of occasions. "Once I recovered she gave me the short version of what went down with the Careers and how you'd gotten stung by the tracker jackers. She told me that she had brought you somewhere safe."

"She didn't happen to mention _how_ she'd managed that, did she?" I ask curiously.

Gale shakes his head. "Apparently that is a carefully guarded secret." I suspect she must be in contact with Thresh somehow - that's the only explanation that would make sense. Or else Foxface carried me here. I'm actually not sure which of those is less likely. They both seem impossible. "She brought me here and filled me in on the rest of what had happened, and we've just been waiting the last day and a half for you to wake up." The look on his face makes it clear just how hard that wait was on him.

We sit quietly for a few minutes, just soaking in each other's company. The sun is shining brightly and all around us are the sounds of the woods - birds chirping lightly, a soft breeze rustling the leaves, the gentle babbling of the stream. For a while it feels as if we are back in _our _woods, and some of the horror of the past few days fades. I feel steadily more like myself as I relax in Gale's arms. The pounding in my head has ebbed, and my body no longer feels so sore.

That strikes me as odd for some reason. After a few seconds I remember - the burn on my calf! My right leg should be in agony right now after spending two days rolling in the dirt with an untreated burn. But I don't feel anything out of the ordinary, not even when I flex it.

I unwind my right leg from Gale's waist and pull my foot up beside me, bending my leg at the knee. I brush the tattered remains of the bottom of my pants aside. There's nothing but smooth, unblemished skin, looking pinker and newer where the burn was, but no sign of it otherwise. I release my grip Gale's shirt and see that my palms are perfectly healed as well.

"My leg!" I yelp, making Gale jump a bit, before it occurs to me that I should be keeping my voice down - we aren't actually in our woods. "The burn's gone! How is that even _possible_?"

I look up at Gale, hoping he has the answer.

"When Rue brought me here, you were a mess, covered in soot and dirt and blood. You were so far gone from the tracker jacker venom …" Gale pauses, looking down, the pain of the memory written clearly across his face. He flicks his eyes back up to mine and continues, "I knew there was nothing I could do to help you through that. But it broke my heart seeing you lying there like that. So I carried you to the stream, to wash you up, since it was pretty much the only thing I _could_ do for you."

"Well that explains why I'm not a complete mess right now," I observe, smiling gently at him.

Gale nods, adding distractedly, "The water seemed to help relax you so we brought you back a couple times yesterday and again this morning."

Then he gets back to answering my original question. "Anyway, that first night, I saw the burn and it looked … just awful. Rue had been giving you water so you weren't dehydrated, but the running you had done had torn the skin and caused some of the blisters to burst." I shudder at the thought, glad I never had to see that - I really, really hate burns.

"I cleaned it off as best I could without hurting you more but I was so afraid it would get infected, if it wasn't already. Rue promised to go look for some leaves she thought might help with it in the morning - she had already treated the stings on your hand and neck with something, but she said that wouldn't help with the burn," Gale explains. I look at the back of the hand where I was stung and realize that I can only see the faintest mark where the stinger entered. Truth be told, I had completely forgotten about those particular injuries until now.

He smiles now, in a way that suggests that he still can't quite believe what happened next. "But it turned out she didn't have to. When we brought you back here, there was a silver parachute, with a small plastic pot attached to it. It had a medicated ointment in it. Miraculous stuff. The burn was practically gone by the next morning."

I let out a low whistle of amazement, knowing that such a gift could only have come from incredibly wealthy sponsors - possibly several of them. "Thank _you_ Haymitch," I whisper slowly.

The corners of Gale's mouth quirk up in a wry grin. "The man knows when to come through, I'll give him that."

"Is there any of the ointment left?" I ask.

Gale frowns. "There's some, yeah." He reaches down to stroke the skin of my calf gently. "Is it bothering you? It looked like it had healed."

I shake my head. "It's fine, I was just hoping there'd be some left. In case anyone else decides to get literal with the whole 'boy and girl on fire' thing," I say dryly.

Gale chuckles humourlessly. "Wouldn't surprise me. It's in my backpack," he assures me. His fingers are still tracing soft circles over my leg and it's distracting me, so I'm a bit startled when he asks quietly, his voice unexpectedly rough, "How did it happen?"

For a moment I'm transported back there, the world on fire around me, choking on the smoke that's replaced the air, the muffled boom echoing in my head. My voice isn't as steady as I'd like it to be when I answer. "I heard the cannon. I couldn't move. I thought…"

I can't finish the sentence, but I don't need to. Our eyes meet. Gale knows what I thought - he thought the same thing about me when he heard it.

The weight of everything that's happened over the past few days suddenly crashes down on us. We come together instinctively, our mouths meeting in a brutally passionate kiss, our bodies colliding as we try to exorcise all of our fear and anguish against each other. I clutch Gale desperately to me, as though I could fuse us together through the sheer force of my love for him. It feels like he's trying to devour me whole and I want him to; I want him to bury himself so deeply inside me and claw my way so deep inside him that nothing can ever separate us.

My body's on fire everywhere it touches his. My hands move restlessly over him, grabbing at his shoulders, raking down his chest, sliding into his hair. Something primal in me is screaming at me to reclaim what's mine, what was almost taken from me permanently.

Gale's lips break away from mine to trail down my neck, stopping to suck hard on the sensitive spot where it meets my shoulders. His teeth graze the skin there and I gasp, grinding my hips down into his. He growls low in his throat and his hands slip under the back of my shirt to caress my bare skin, his fingers sliding up to brush against my breasts. I moan loudly and yank his head back up, my mouth descending again on his.

We are on the verge of giving the people of Panem a very different kind of show when, to both my immense frustration and immense relief, Rue announces her return with a surprised yelping sound that brings us tumbling back to reality.

"Sorry," Rue mumbles, staring at the ground awkwardly when we look her way, flushed and dazed and at least one of us pink-faced with embarrassment for getting so out of control.

"It's okay," I assure her when I get my voice back, though I'm still somewhat breathless. "Thank you, actually." It's one thing to accept that some Capitol lackey may have been listening in on Gale and I on the train or in our room at the Training Center. It would be quite another for all of Panem to see us going at it on the forest floor.

I slip off Gale's lap and we take a moment to compose ourselves. My body is still tingling with barely repressed need, but it slowly becomes more manageable, a quiet hum instead of a screaming in my blood.

After a minute Gale groans and flops onto his back, throwing his hands over his face. I look down curiously at him.

"Well I might as well die here," he starts blithely when he notices me watching him, "because even if I actually make it home, your mother is going to _kill_ me."

Somewhere, I suspect, Haymitch and Effie are having a very good laugh at our expense right now.

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_A/N: So I realize an alternate title for this chapter would be 'Gale Plays Exposition Fairy.' But you all wanted to know what he'd been up to, right? ;) And I promise there's lots more action coming up!_


	24. All the Snares of Man

**A/N: **Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed! This one's a long one; hope you guys enjoy it :)

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**Chapter 23 - All The Snares of Man**

After a few moments of awkward silence I decide I want to go to the stream and clean off my clothes. Even though Gale said he brought me there this morning, the last few hours that I spent locked in the tracker jacker nightmarescape took their toll, and I find myself craving the refreshment of cool water.

Gale tries to insist on coming with me, but I shoot him a pointed look meant to communicate just what a terrible idea that would be right now. I understand that he's reluctant to let me out of his sight after everything that's happened since the fire in the forest - I feel the same way - but the heightened emotions and low thrum of desire still singing in my veins make me certain that this needs to be a solo bathing expedition. It would be far too easy to get carried away again, and while I'm sure my mother wouldn't _actually_ murder Gale (she's been surprisingly understanding on the issue of our physical relationship), I also really, _really_ don't need her (or the rest of Panem) to see us doing _that_ either.

Rue interrupts our silent staring match to tell us that she went back to the Cornucopia while we were talking and the Careers are still out cold. From what we've seen so far, I don't think I'm in much danger from the other tributes, should one of them happen upon me. The Gamemakers might try to separate us again, but I suspect they'll think it'll be more interesting to leave us together for now, especially with the pack out of play for the time-being. I promise Gale that I won't be long and that I'll bring my bow with me, and he grudgingly acquiesces.

Rue shows me the way to the stream, located only a couple of minutes from where they'd set up camp to wait out my tracker jacker-induced unconsciousness. She melts away into the trees when we've reached it, apparently heading back to where we left Gale cleaning the rabbits he had caught this morning. But I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she in fact lingered near me instead, keeping an eye out and ready to alert Gale to any approaching danger.

I peel off all my clothes except for my undergarments and scrub them thoroughly in the water before laying them out on nearby branches to dry in the sun. Then I wade into the stream, finding a shallow spot to sit down in and let the water wash over me. As an afterthought I take out my braid and lean back in the water, my hair fanning out behind me.

As I soak, I think about what I know now about the remaining tributes. Foxface obviously had some ulterior motivation for joining the Career pack. What exactly that is, I don't know. Rue evidently knew she was on our side, though, whatever her reasons might be. The boy from District 3, also supposedly working with the Careers, may well have saved Gale's life from whatever trap the pack had set up around the supplies in the Cornucopia. That could be the extent of his helpfulness, yet I also can't rule out the possibility that he's trying to sabotage the Careers somehow. As far as we know, Thresh is only looking out for himself at this point. But I remember Rue's comment - _"I know how to get help when I need it"_ - and can't shake the feeling that she was referring to Thresh.

It occurs to me that all of this could be a massive set-up, the others working together to take Gale and I out when we least suspect it. If that were the case, though, why not let the Careers kill me when they had the chance after the fire? Or let Gale walk into the booby-trap at the Cornucopia?

My thoughts turn to the Careers themselves. Gale said he saw four of them passed out at the lake. I'm assuming that was Cato, Marvel, Glimmer, and Clove. Last I saw, Foxface had gone tearing off back in the direction of the pool I had soothed my burns in, on a perpendicular course to the one the Careers had taken to get back to the lake. I doubt she'd take the chance of rejoining them now - if they noticed that she seemed to have a head-start in getting away her cover would have been blown and it wouldn't be safe for her anymore.

If we can assume that the boy from 3 is, at the very least, not interested in actively trying to kill us, then the Careers no longer have as much of a numbers advantage; not with Rue working with Gale and I. Of course it would still be a bad idea to openly pick a fight with them - they may not have a large advantage in terms of numbers, but they certainly have one in size and strength. On the other hand, they're definitely outmatched by us in terms of cleverness and stealth, and I think it's past time that we start using those assets to get a couple steps ahead of them.

Since the Games started four days ago, the Careers and the Gamemakers - the Capitol, basically - have had us on the run. But the playing field has been evened up substantially now, and I'm ready to go on the offensive. Maybe it would be insanity to challenge the Careers to a flat-out brawl at this point, but we can at least put _them_ on the run for a change.

The question is how. And I'm pretty sure that the answer lies in the stockpile of supplies they've amassed at the Cornucopia. Right now things are far too cushy for them, with all the food and water and medication they could ever need easily at hand. If we could take that away, I doubt they'd last long having to fend for themselves, something they've never had to do once before in their lives.

These are the Hunger Games after all - and it's high time they learn what it feels like to starve.

The outline of a plan starts to form in my head, but I'll need to discuss it with Gale and Rue. My purpose decided, I allow myself a few more minutes of reclining in the stream, letting the flowing water relax me until my mind is blissfully blank - a welcome relief after the mental onslaught caused by the tracker jacker venom.

When I find myself wishing that the water sliding over my body was Gale's hands instead, I sigh and finally drag myself back to shore. I pat myself dry as best I can with the lining of my jacket, since it will have several hours to dry in the hot sun before I need to put it on again, and pull the rest of my slightly damp clothes back on. I gather up the rest of my things and head back the way Rue showed me.

As I get near the campsite, I hear Rue singing something, a simple four-note run, in a clear, sweet voice. I'm surprised to hear the song repeated back from the tree-tops - I'd have thought the Capitol would have made sure mockingjays, of all things, were kept away from the Arena. Their presence is oddly comforting, a symbol that even this fortress of Capitol cruelty isn't entirely immune to infiltration.

"That was beautiful," I say genuinely as I emerge from the trees. Gale and Rue are sitting together on the ground, cleaning the knives Gale must have used to prepare his catches from this morning. "What was it?"

Rue smiles shyly as she explains, "I was just showing Gale the song I do back home when I'm working in the orchards." Off my questioning look she adds, "I'm usually up the highest, so I see the flag that signals quitting time before anyone else. I sing that song and the mockingjays spread it around the orchard, to let everyone know they can go home."

"It's a clever system, don't you think?" Gale grins up at me when I come to stand beside him. He wraps one arm around my leg and leans his head against my hip. I reach down to run my fingers through his dark hair, and he hums in appreciation.

"Very clever," I say sincerely to Rue, who beams proudly.

"Katniss can sing, you know," Gale tells Rue conspiratorially, who looks up at me with interest. "She has a beautiful voice, but she hardly ever lets me hear it."

I'm so pleased to see the way that Gale's taken to Rue, despite his earlier reservations, that it outweighs my irritation with him for bringing that up. I have a decent singing voice, it's true, but I haven't done much of it since my father died. All the songs I know are one's he taught me. After the accident, singing became just another painful reminder of his loss. The only time I really do it anymore is when Prim's very sick.

Gale only knows I can sing because of one time, years ago, in the woods. We'd encountered a pack of wild dogs and hadn't been able to get away fast enough. Gale had been bit badly in the leg, and I'd needed to do something to distract him - and myself, to be honest - while I cleaned and dressed the wound well-enough to be able to get him back to my mother for proper treatment. Singing had been the only thing I could think of to do, remembering how it always helped soothe Prim when she was ill. I've never thought my voice was anything special, but Gale had seemed awed as he listened to me. After that he'd pestered me to sing again, wondering why I always refused until I finally caved and told him how it reminded me of my father. He mostly let it go after that, but every now and then he'd beg me to indulge him. On the rare occasion, I would. The last time had been on the night of my 18th birthday, when I'd brought him to the old ruined cottage down by the lake deep in the woods. We'd shared everything that night - there was nothing I would have denied him then.

Rue pulls me from my memories when she asks hopefully, "Would you sing for me?"

I hate to say no to her, but the memories the subject have surfaced have left me feeling too raw right now to do it. "Another time," I promise, a note of sadness creeping into my voice.

Rue looks disappointed, but seems to understand that my refusal has nothing to do with her personally. Gale looks up at me, his expression a mixture of concern and apology. I manage a small reassuring smile, then change the subject briskly. "I think we should get going. The Careers will probably be rousing soon, if they haven't already and we need to find somewhere safer to spend the night before they're on the move again."

Before either of them can react, the cannon rings out. I'm a bit surprised to hear it - I'd have figured everyone would be reasonably safe with the Careers incapacitated for the moment.

Unless they aren't anymore.

Gale and Rue exchange a nervous look, then Gale stands up. "I have to go check something," he says, his tone serious. "Stay here, I'll be back soon."

"I don't think so," I argue. I don't know what's going on exactly, but clearly they do, and I won't be left out of it. "I'm coming with you."

Gale really does not look happy about this, but every inch of his body is radiating a sense of urgency and I'm betting he'll decide he doesn't have time to argue with me. I'm right. "Fine, in that case, you'd better both come. Get your stuff - quickly. If I'm right, we don't have much time to get there, and I'm not sure we'll be able to come back here."

We do as he says and head out, Gale in the lead, setting a swift pace.

It only takes us a couple minutes to reach the spot he was heading for. My mouth drops open when I see what's there.

Four pieces of snare line have been strung from high up in four separate trees. Dangling from the spot where they converge is Glimmer, dead; hung by the neck from the expertly set trap.

My first instinct is to shield Rue's eyes, to protect her from the macabre sight. But when I look at her, she's eyeing Glimmer with a mixture of horror and relief, and I get the impression she doesn't need my protection.

"Was this yours?" I ask quietly, addressing Gale. The rush to get here must have been to beat the hovercraft that will be arriving any second to take the body away.

Gale's expression is completely inscrutable as he regards the results of his handy-work. He nods. "I set some traps around the camp, as a precaution," he replies flatly.

From his tone, I suspect he didn't really expect to actually trap someone in them. His words after our private sessions with the Gamemakers come back to me - '_I_ _doubt the other tributes will be so accommodating as to stand still when I try to hang them.'_ Clearly he didn't need them to be.

"What was she even doing here?" I whisper.

This seems to snap Gale out of his trance. He shakes his head, and looks down at us. "I don't know," he said grimly. "But we better clear out in case the others are nearby."

We walk in sombre silence back to the water and head upstream. Gale seems the most unsettled by the scene we left behind - not that anyone else would be able to tell; I can only pick up on it because I know him so well. I suppose it's one thing to talk about hanging your enemies, and quite another to see it actually executed. But I have no doubt that Glimmer would have killed each of us a hundred times over if she had the chance, and she'd have made every second of it agonizing. I'm glad she's dead. And with her out of the picture, there's only three Careers left. Much better odds for us.

I keep my eyes open for any forest animals, using the familiar rhythm of hunting to take my mind off the memory of Glimmer hanging from the trees. Eventually I spot a good-sized bird, similar to a wild turkey - Rue says they call them grooslings in District 11 - and take it out with a single shot. Between this and the three rabbits Gale caught this morning, we'll have enough food for a small feast tonight. The way Rue lights up when I tell her this makes me suspect she's never seen this much food at once before. I'm surprised - I'd have thought coming from District 11, the heart of agriculture for Panem, she'd have better access to food than we do.

When I say as much to her, she shakes her head. "Oh no, we're not allowed to eat the crops. They whip anyone they catch trying to and make everyone else watch. The mayor's very strict about it." It's clear from her expression that this is something that happens often.

Gale and I exchange a loaded look - whippings are very rare in District 12. He and I could be whipped or worse on a daily basis for poaching, but all of the city officials, even the Peacekeepers, depend on our spoils to some degree or another. And Mayor Undersee has never seemed to have much taste for that sort of thing anyway. For the first time in possibly my entire life, I'm extremely grateful to come from District 12.

We've been walking for an hour or so when I notice a series of low bushes, full of thick berries a purple so dark they almost look black. I walk over to get a closer look at them, thinking we might have something else to add to our feast. But I discard that idea as soon as I pluck one off and get a good look at it.

I recognize these from the woods back home. My father pointed them out to me once, his voice deadly serious as he warned me to never, ever eat them; he said they'd kill you as soon as they pass your lips. Nightlock, he'd called it.

I'm about to leave them, when another thought occurs to me. Reoccurs to me, actually. I first had it in the car on the way to the train station from the Justice Building - _a fast-acting poison is the best chance we'll have_. Gale and I will need something on hand for the end of the Games, if we make it that far, for our (hopefully aborted) double-suicide attempt. I doubt we'll find anything that fits that bill better than this.

By now Gale and Rue have come over to see what's caught my attention. When Rue spots the berry in my hand, her face is filled with concern as she looks up at me. "Katniss you can't eat that, it's poison," she says worriedly.

"I know," I assure her. I look up at Gale. "Nightlock."

His eyes widen - I've warned him off them in our woods before - and we share a grim nod. He digs a small pouch out of his backpack, then cuts off a piece of the plastic sheet to line it with. I pluck a couple handfuls of the berries, as much as will fit inside. As I do this, I explain to Rue, "Maybe we can trick some of the Careers into eating them, or poison the tips of our weapons with the juice."

It's not a bad idea actually, although if they somehow managed to turn them on us we'd be dead in an instant and it's probably not worth the risk. Mostly I just said it to keep the Gamemakers and the politicians and the rest of the Capitol audience from growing suspicious about why we'd be collecting something we know to be deadly.

I tie the pouch securely to the side of my backpack, careful to make sure the berries won't be squished and contaminate my food, and then we move on.

We walk for a couple more hours, until the sky turns red-orange as dusk falls over the Arena. We stop then to make a small fire and cook all the meat we've obtained during the day. There's enough food that we're all able to eat until we're full and still have some leftover, which we split between the three of us. We refill our water bottles from the stream and then head a bit further into the forest, looking for a suitable tree to sleep in.

We find one that'll do about a half hour's walk from the stream. It has a thick trunk and a couple of sturdy looking forks that we can settle in. Gale and I stop at one about 30 feet off the ground. I lend my sleeping bag and rope to Rue, who only has her jacket and an extra pair of socks to use for warmth. She climbs another 20 feet or so up, and settles in for the night.

Gale and I assume the same position from our first nights in the Games, him behind me, me between his legs, his arms holding me firmly against him. I relax into him, the familiar pose giving me some sense of normalcy, as completely absurd as it may be.

"Think we'll get another fiery wake up call?" Gale mutters dryly next to my ear as the anthem begins to play.

"Nah," I answer dismissively. "Too repetitive. Gotta keep your torture methods fresh, you know."

"Hmmm," he replies, pressing his lips against the soft skin just below my ear, the vibration tingling pleasantly through me. "That is extraordinarily _not _comforting."

I laugh softly and twist in his arms, bringing his mouth to mine and kissing him deeply. When things start to get a bit too heated - which takes an embarrassingly short amount of time considering we are in a tree, with another person, cameras broadcasting our every moment to the entire population - I pull away. I brush my lips along his jaw as I murmur, "Better?"

Gale snorts and leans his head back against the tree, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. His mouth is quirked wryly, somewhere between a grimace and a smirk, when he looks back down at me to respond. "I don't know that 'comforting' is the word I'd go with, but I'm certainly not complaining."

He leans down again to press his lips softly against mine, and I sigh when we break apart, snuggling back into his chest.

Glimmer's image appears in the sky and I hear Gale mutter, "Good riddance."

Apparently he's over whatever disquiet he might have felt about her death. Or is at least determined to act like he is.

"Can you tell me everything you remember about the Careers' set-up at the Cornucopia?" I ask quietly when we've settled, changing the subject. I want to start figuring out a plan for taking out their supplies. I know Rue's been in to spy on them a few times and probably has more information than Gale, so we'll have to vet everything with her in the morning. But I want to talk things over with Gale first, since there's no one I trust more than him when making a plan.

"Why, what are you thinking?" Gale replies, his tone both curious and a little bit worried.

"I'm thinking they're a little too well-stocked right now," I answer evenly. "And I'm thinking we should do something to correct that."

"Can't argue with that," he agrees dryly. "It was dark and I wasn't exactly at my sharpest when I was there. Rue might have noticed something I haven't…"

"I know, we'll talk to her about this tomorrow too," I assure him.

I feel Gale nod behind me, and then he continues, "The pack has their camp set up close to the lake - it didn't look like anything fancy, just a tent or two and a fire pit. They've emptied all the supplies out of the Cornucopia, at least as far as I could tell, and piled them all into a pyramid. It's about halfway between the lake and the ring of metal plates we stood on when we were first brought in here. It has to be rigged with some sort of trap, but there was nothing that I saw to give away what it might be."

Nothing in what Gale's said gives me any indication what it might be either, though I didn't really expect it to. "What about the boy from 3?" I ask. "Do you have any idea what he's doing with them?"

"I assume he's with them to keep his own ass alive a little while longer," Gale shrugs. "I don't know what they're getting from him in return. It's certainly not physical power, the kid's basically skin and bones. I'm guessing since we haven't seen him out hunting with them, they're leaving him behind when they go. But he's not big or strong enough to guard the supplies through force."

"Which means he's probably responsible for whatever the booby-trap on their supplies is," I muse. "There'd be no point having him around otherwise. What do we know about District 3?"

Gale gives a short bark of humourless laughter. "What do we know about any of the districts?" It's true, the Capitol strongly discourages people from learning about what goes on outside of their own district. Information is power after all, and the more people know, the more likely they are to question their lot in life; to decide to do something to change it.

Gale thinks for a moment, then offers, "They manufacture technology. Televisions, computers, automobiles -"

"- Explosives," I finish quietly. "That has to be it, right? A bomb of some sort?"

"It'd make sense I suppose," Gale says thoughtfully.

I frown as I second-guess myself. "Maybe not - would the Gamemakers really have put all the supplies to make a bomb in the Cornucopia? It doesn't seem likely."

There's a pause as we consider that, then Gale says slowly, "Maybe he wouldn't need to have built it. Maybe he just needed to turn it back on."

"The landmines…" I whisper, awed, as realization dawns on me. They're planted all around the metal plates that lift in the tributes at the Cornucopia to prevent people from stepping off early, but after the gong that signals the start of the Games sounds they're deactivated. If he figured out a way to relocate and reactivate them, they'd make for one hell of a booby-trap.

"We'll have to get in closer to tell for sure," Gale says, not sounding terribly thrilled at the prospect.

I nod. I'd already anticipated that we'd need some time alone at the Cornucopia to figure out what the trick there was. And that means we'll need to draw the Careers away. "We're going to need to create a distraction." I look up to where Rue is sleeping above us, sure-footed in even the highest branches, able to stay well out of harm's way even with a pack of angry Careers on the prowl. "And I think I know just the person to do it."

* * *

As soon as the sky begins to lighten the following morning we repack all of our gear and climb down from the tree. I explain to Rue what we want to do while Gale goes on a quick hunting expedition. She confirms his description of the situation at the Cornucopia, and tells me how to find the copse she uses to spy on them - a spot at the edge of the woods where the bushy foliage is thick enough to hide anyone there from their sight.

Gale returns with a rabbit and a squirrel, and we decide to chance a small fire to cook them, trusting the misty pre-morning sky to conceal the smoke well-enough. Rue puts in some of the roots and berries she's gathered to the meal and we go over the plan as we eat breakfast.

It's pretty simple actually - we'll set up the materials for a series of campfires and someone will light them, drawing the Careers away from the Cornucopia; meanwhile the others will figure out a way to destroy the supplies. The main subject up for debate is who is going to do which role.

Rue will set up the fires, there's no question about that. And it's obvious that at least one of Gale and I will have to go to the Cornucopia. We each have a better chance than Rue if we end up in hand-to-hand fight with the Careers, and we have better shot at being able to activate the booby-trap from a distance if it's possible to do so.

The problem is that I'm reluctant to let Rue go off to set the fires by herself, since if it works the Careers will be hot on her trail. She can mostly stick to the tree-tops, but she'll still have to come down to actually light the fires. But I also don't want Gale with her, since he has less of a chance of getting away if he crosses paths with the Careers - not to mention he'll be less inclined to _try_ to get away instead of just facing them head-on. Gale, however, absolutely refuses to let me go with Rue, for the exact same reason.

It's Rue that finally decides the issue for us. "I have the best chance of escaping if the Careers do catch up with me in the woods," she insists forcefully, "and the Cornucopia will be much more dangerous anyway since at least one of you will have to expose ourselves to get far enough into the clearing to figure out the trap. It only makes sense for you both to go there."

It's another one of those moments where she reminds me eerily of Prim, who has the innate ability to take charge of a situation when necessary. Prim, like my mother, is a natural healer, and I can't count the number of times where she's had to boss me around to help treat some poor injured soul when our mother wasn't in and I would have been floundering uselessly without her. Somehow the fact that she's so tiny only makes her more commanding, as she has nothing but the sheer force of personality at her disposal, making it all the more impressive that she's able to wield it so effectively.

That argument settled, we hide the evidence of our fire and head out to set up our diversion. Gale and I help Rue collect and place the wood for the first two campfires. The third she'll have time to take care of on her own. We agree to meet back at the place we spent the night before when we're done. If all goes well, it should only be early afternoon when we rendez-vous and we'll have plenty of time to find another spot to stay tonight.

Before Gale and I leave for the Cornucopia, Rue teaches us (well, me really, since Gale has no talent for singing) a simpler version of her four-note mockingjay signal, to use to let each other know we're okay even if we can't make it back right away.

We're about to head out, when on impulse I lean down to throw my arms around Rue. She hugs me back tightly with no hesitation. "Be careful," I tell her firmly.

"You too," she replies. "Both of you."

Gale bends down and swoops her up into his arms, the way I've seen him do so many times with Posy and Prim. Rue giggles brightly, and I'm reminded painfully of just how young she is.

"Fly safe, little bird," he tells her and she nods solemnly.

Gale sets her back on the ground, and comes to stand next to me. "We'll see you soon," I promise her, ignoring the stab of worry that runs throw me. She smiles sweetly at me, and then Gale is tugging lightly on my hand, urging me to go. I cast one last reassuring look at her before she disappears up into the trees and we set off in the direction of the Cornucopia.

* * *

It takes us nearly three hours to get there from where we left Rue back at the first fire site. The woods start to thin out as we get nearer to the Cornucopia and we move more carefully, keeping an ear out for anyone nearby and our weapons at the ready. No one shows up though, and we find Rue's copse without incident. Gale notes that it's near the spot where he came out of the grasslands beyond the cliff. The lake is almost directly across the clearing from us.

As I had expected, the rest of the Careers have woken from the tracker jacker haze, though they still seem to be recovering from the attack. Glimmer must not have been as badly stung as they were, if she was up and about yesterday. I wonder what they think happened to her.

Marvel, Cato and Clove are all eating by the lake, and even from this distance I can see the swollen lumps on their faces and necks where they were stung. Either they didn't think to remove the stingers or don't know about the leaves that can heal them. The boy from 3 is here as well, sitting slightly removed from the others and fiddling with a small plastic box of some sort.

As Gale described, they've taken everything out of the Cornucopia and piled it neatly in the clearing. With the light of day now, we can see that most of it is in crates, plastic bins, and burlap sacks. The whole thing is sheltered by a canopy of netting, that doesn't seem to serve any purpose other than protecting the tower from birds. There's a circle of supplies several yards away from the pyramid, ringing the entire structure. If we're right about the landmines, my guess is that those supplies mark the border of the rigged zone.

We're still too far out, and too low to the ground, to be able to tell if the earth around the metal plates has been disturbed, or if anything has been buried around the pyramid. As we wait for Rue to light the first fire and the Careers to head out in search of it, we try to decide which one of us is going to go into the clearing to check things out when they do.

Both of us insist on being the one to do it, so after several minutes of circular arguing (_I'm stronger and I can run faster. / Not by much, and I can shoot better. / That's why you should watch my back. / What if they come from the front? / Like I said, I'm stronger. / An arrow in the chest will stop them better than a fist in the face will. / You'd be surprised._) we end up just playing a round of rock, paper, scissor to make the decision. I win (Gale almost always picks rock), so I get the dubious honour of going in.

Cato springs up suddenly, shouting and pointing into the woods beyond us. Rue must have gotten the first fire going. The others hop to their feet as well, gathering their weapons.

An argument breaks out, loudly enough for us to hear it from our hiding spot. They're debating whether or not the boy from District 3 should stay or accompany them.

"Enough!" Cato shouts after a couple minutes. "We're wasting time. He's coming. We need him in the woods. And everything's done here anyway, right?"

The last is addressed to the boy from 3, who shrugs nervously but picks up a spear from the ground. "Basically, yeah."

"Let's go," Cato orders and the whole lot start marching quickly to the woods. "The girl's Marvel's. I'll deal with Loverboy."

Gale snarls quietly at the threat against me (and probably also over the fact that the 'Loverboy' nickname has caught on), but we hold our position until they're gone, disappeared in the trees.

I wait another half hour, until we're sure they're not returning. Gale kisses me once, hard on the lips, before I go. "I've got your back," he promises me.

"I know," I whisper back, then begin to creep out into the clearing.

As soon as I'm out in the open, I dart quickly towards one of the metal plates that lifted the tributes into the Arena, keeping low to the ground. I reach the one nearest to the copse in short order and immediately our suspicions are confirmed. The ground around it has been dug up and patted back down. A brief glance at the plates to the left and the right of this verify that the others have been dug up as well. Now I just have to figure out how to set them off.

I cross through the area between the plates and the Cornucopia to get a better look at the pyramid. The mines are set off by pressure, but obviously I can't go stepping on one without blowing myself to pieces. And if the boy from 3 was smart enough to figure out how to reactivate them, he was probably smart enough to set them far enough apart to take out anyone who tried to get to the supplies without activating the others and blowing up the whole thing. Which means I'm going to have to find a way to set off a whole bunch of them at once to have any hope of starting a chain reaction big enough to destroy the stockpile.

I glance back at the woods and see Gale crouching low, just outside of the copse, the better to keep an eye out for anyone returning from the forest. The smoke from Rue's second fire is visible in the distance, and I know I need to think quickly. The pack is probably beginning to suspect they've been had and could already be on their way back.

I'm close enough now to make out individual items on the pyramid. I study it carefully and after a few moments my eyes alight on the solution - a burlap sack of apples hanging about halfway up, just out of arm's reach for someone standing on the ground below it. It's a large bag and I could easily sever the rope securing it to the pile with a single arrow, but even that would probably only be good for one explosion. What I need to do is free the apples inside.

I move a bit closer and raise my bow, the arrow already locked in place. I tune out the rest of the world as I take aim, knowing there is no room for error in this. With the first shot, I tear open the side of the bag near the top, splitting the burlap. I fire another arrow, widening the split to a gaping hole, revealing the apples inside.

I'm readying the third arrow, the one that will finish the job, when my blood turns to ice in my veins as I hear a low, unfamiliar voice behind me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."


	25. The Best Laid Plans

**A/N:** I got so many responses after the last chapter's cliffhanger that I just had to update early :) Although, actually, you may not be thanking me for that by the end of this one.

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**Chapter 24 - The Best Laid Plans**

I whirl around, bow still drawn back, to find the District 3 boy standing a few feet away, regarding me calmly. The spear I had seen him leave with is lying on the ground beside him, and he raises his hands in the air to indicate he means me no harm. I don't lower my bow though, in case this is a trick. I search the plain for any sign of the others, but only spot Gale doing the same from his position near the copse, clearly debating whether I'm in any danger right now and if he should risk exposing himself. If it weren't for his encounter with the boy the night after the fire, I'm sure he already would have. The boy must've come from behind the Cornucopia for Gale not to have spotted him before he was within reach of me.

"I'm alone," the boy assures me. Up close I can see that Gale was right - he's painfully scrawny, and even though he must be at least Rory's age, he's only a couple inches taller than I am, the result of a lifetime of malnourishment. I relax slightly since it's obvious the boy is definitely not a physical threat. "I told them I'd forgotten to set something and had to come back. Luckily they're short-handed enough now to let me go without an escort. And desperate enough to keep their supplies safe to not just kill me on the spot for screwing up," he adds bemusedly.

"What are you doing here?" I ask warily.

The boy lowers his hands slowly, smirking slightly as he responds, "Same thing you are, I reckon. Only I plan to do it from a _safe_ distance. Unless you were hoping to spend the rest of the Games deaf and with several broken ribs, in which case, by all means, go ahead." He gestures sarcastically at the pyramid.

I scowl briefly, but then realize he's right as I remember my old school lessons about the dangers of mine explosions - it's not only the blast itself that you have to worry about, but the pressure that ripples out from it. This close to the landmines, the pressure wave created by the explosion could have seriously hurt me, not to mention the shrapnel that'd be created as the supplies blow apart. The boy has actually done me a large favour. Assuming, of course, he's telling the truth about blowing it up himself.

"So you set up this whole thing just to sabotage the Careers?" I question, my tone skeptical. "If you weren't really working with them, why didn't you just kill them when they were unconscious from the tracker jacker venom?"

He shrugs, but looks pointedly at me. "Why don't _you_ just kill me now?"

The answer to that is pretty obvious - he's just saved me from getting badly injured, and he most likely saved Gale's life the other night. I can't very well kill him now, even if Haymitch hadn't warned us to avoid being responsible for non-Career deaths.

Remembering that triggers a wave of understanding in me - he couldn't kill the Careers, because then the rest of us would have to kill _each other_. Something it seems none of us are inclined to do. The suspicion I had that Haymitch is working with the other mentors, at least the one's from the sympathetic districts, grows - whether to help us specifically or just the cause in general, I'm not sure. Either way, if the result is to keep us alive longer, I'm not about to complain.

And I realize that, at least for now, we can't kill the Careers either, unless they leave us with no choice. Of the four other non-Career tributes in the Arena, Rue is actively working with us, Foxface and this boy have saved our lives, and while we can't be sure what Thresh has been up to, at this point it just seems reasonable to assume he's involved somehow as well. As unpleasant as it is to think about, especially standing here looking this boy in the eye, the ugly truth is we need the Careers around until the field's been narrowed further - until they've narrowed it for us.

I remember the cameras watching us, and finally lower my bow, commenting wryly for the benefit of the audience, "Doesn't seem very sporting, does it?"

He chuckles, catching on. "Certainly doesn't." The boy looks towards the woods, then turns back to me. "I'd suggest getting out of here now. They'll be back soon, and I plan to blow it and get gone before they do."

I hesitate momentarily - I hate to leave the job undone, and I'm still not entirely convinced that this boy can be trusted to do what he claims. But I don't really have much choice, not with the injuries I'd be likely to get if I blew it myself from here. I briefly consider taking the boy's spear, just to be sure he can't stab me in the back with it as I return to the woods, but quickly discard the idea. If he wanted me dead he could have killed me when he first approached, or even just let me set off the mines. And he'll need that spear when the Careers return and see what he's done.

I nod once, and begin to back away towards the copse where Gale has been watching us tensely. The boy starts to head towards the lake, presumably to retrieve whatever he needs to blow the trap from afar. After a few steps though, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I can't resist calling out to ask, "Using the landmines," - he turns back to face me - "it's ingenious - how'd you think of it?"

He smiles enigmatically when he answers, "My mentor told me how he won his Games. And I got … inspired." He grins as he shrugs, then turns and starts to jog towards the lake. Apparently that's all the answer I'm going to get, so I do the same but in the opposite direction.

Gale melted back into the copse as soon as the boy and I split up. I re-enter the woods a bit away from there, wanting to get off the open plain as soon as possible, then circle back to the hiding place.

He's sitting there waiting for me, clearly agitated when I get back. "What happened out there?" he whispers anxiously.

I peer through the brush to see the boy from 3 by the lake, working hurriedly on the plastic box he had been holding earlier. It must be a trigger of some sort.

I turn to Gale to explain, but just then we hear someone crashing through the woods a few hundred yards to our left.

Everything then seems to happen in slow-motion.

Cato emerges into the clearing, running hard towards the boy from 3. Something about his arrival strikes me as odd, but too much is happening for me to put my finger on it.

The boy spots him and makes one last adjustment then presses something on the box.

I hiss at Gale to _get down_, hitting the floor myself and covering my head with my arms.

I feel the impact of Gale's body as he drops to the ground beside me, and hope that he thinks to mimic my position.

Then the air seems to press out against us as the explosion rings out and it's lucky that we're below the plane of the blast because even from this distance the force of it would be enough to blow us back if we weren't. The ground shakes for almost a full minute as one mine after another goes off.

When the blasts finally stop, I pull my arms away from my ears and look at Gale. All sound is heavily muffled, a loud ringing filling my ears. I point at my ears and Gale mouths the word '_ringing'_ to me. I nod, indicating I'm in the same boat.

Luckily, after a few minutes the ringing starts to fade. I can only imagine how bad the damage would have been if I was closer to the blast site.

We prop ourselves up on our elbows and peek out at the clearing. The tower of supplies is gone, reduced to smoldering rubble. The field is strewn with the wreckage of the blast. I can see Cato, knocked flat on his back in the center of the half-circle of metal plates, not too far from where I was standing when the boy from 3 stopped me. The side of his head facing us is stained red, blood seeping out of his left ear, and I shudder thinking about how close I came to being in that position.

Cato tries to stand up but almost immediately falls back to the ground. The injury to his ear would have thrown off his balance, and it's going to take some time for him to get used to it. But it's already obvious, even from a distance, that he's determined to get to his feet if for no other reason than to get retaliation on the boy from 3, who is also starting to rouse. He's crawling slowly away from the lake, evidently trying to head for the cliff and into the grass beyond. That would seem like a terrible idea given his condition, were it not for the imminent danger posed to him by Cato, who's trying again to rise. This time he makes it a few steps before falling again. But the boy is moving so slowly, Cato's still sure to catch up with him before he can get away.

"We have to help him," Gale says grimly next to my ear, just audible over the ringing.

I nod - if it wasn't for him, that would be me horribly injured and struggling to get to safety. Then the thought that's been nagging at the back of my mind since Cato first appeared finally crystallizes. "I think Rue's in trouble," I whisper urgently. "Why aren't the other two with Cato?"

Gale frowns. We can't abandon her either and if they've caught up to her, by the time we get the boy to safety it could be too late. Assuming it isn't already.

To help them both means splitting up. But they've each done too much for us to leave either of them to their demises.

I glance at the boy, then worriedly into the woods, knowing we are losing time.

"Go," Gale says unhappily, nodding towards the forest. "I'll get him out of here and catch up with you."

I kiss him hard. "Be careful," I whisper intensely. "If the others show up, don't try to fight them; just get away."

He nods. "I love you," he says, his voice rough, as he gets to his feet.

"I love you too," I whisper back, and then I take off into the woods, pushing away the terrified feeling I have that I'm never going to see him again.

* * *

I'm gone less than half an hour when I hear the cannon blast, and I very nearly turn back, but force myself to keep going. There's only one boom, and of the three people I left in the clearing, Gale was the least likely to have died. Even if Clove and Marvel showed up -

No. I won't let myself think about that. Gale's fine. He has to be.

At this point, I'm more worried that the cannon was for Rue than anything. Despite my earlier realization that we need the Careers alive a bit longer, I hope sincerely that it was for Cato.

I race through the forest, making it back to the first campfire in half the time it took us to get to the Cornucopia from there originally. I move more carefully as I approach it, but I don't really expect to find anything there. I know Rue lit the second fire, which means if they caught up with her, it was probably at some point between there and the third fire, or between the third fire and our meeting spot.

There's no sign of her at the second campfire either, so I continue on to the place where we had agreed to set up the third. I make sure to move stealthily, the late afternoon shadows helping to keep me concealed among the trees.

The fact that Gale still hasn't caught up to me makes me increasingly nervous. But there hasn't been another cannon blast so I refuse to think about what might be holding him up. He'll be here when he can.

When I reach the site that was supposed to hold the third fire, it's immediately apparent that something went amiss. All the wood is stacked neatly, ready to be lit, but it never was. There's no sign of a struggle though - something must have scared her off before she could finish the task.

I choose the path I think she would have been most likely to take to get back to our planned meeting spot and set out in that direction. By now the ringing in my ears has diminished to a low hum and I use all my senses to stay alert to any approaching danger. I haven't gone too far from the campfire site when I hear it - a single mockingjay repeating Rue's four-note song. The one that means she's okay.

I follow the sound of the bird and hear a few more join it. This fills me with relief, since it means she's been singing to them recently, otherwise they would have picked up another tune. Rue is alive.

My relief is short-lived though, for when I reach a small clearing in the trees I see Rue, alive yes, but certainly not okay, with her hands bound, a knife pressed to her throat, and Marvel's arm around her waist holding her prisoner as a human shield in front of him.

It's a trap. And I've walked right into it.

The trees here are too thin to provide me any sort of cover, so Marvel sees me at the same instant I spot him. Luckily I've had my bow loaded since I left the copse, and I aim squarely at him. I move cautiously into the open, adrenaline heightening my senses as I search for any sign of Clove, who is still unaccounted for and could be waiting to pounce on me.

Marvel smirks viciously as I approach. "So nice of you to finally join us," he purrs, his tone dripping with pure malice.

He's sitting against a large rock at the base of a pair of pine trees. Discarded on the ground next to them is a net - that must have been how he trapped her. I look for any opening to shoot at him, but in his current position Rue is nearly the same height as he is. His head is half-hidden behind hers; the only other parts of his body exposed are the arm around her waist and the hand holding the knife to her neck. If he anticipates my shot, he'll have ample opportunity to move out of the way, and I'll end up killing her instead.

Rue's eyes are wide with terror as she looks at me, and I shoot her the most reassuring expression I can muster.

"Let her go," I say insistently, my gaze flicking up to meet Marvel's. "This is between you and me. You don't need her."

"Maybe not," he shrugs, but makes no move to release her. "But I rather like having your little pet on a leash. Of course, I'd rather have _you_ on a leash," he leers at me.

I shudder internally but refuse to react otherwise. "Big talk coming from Cato's _lapdog_," I spit and his eyes flare with rage. "Don't you think it's kind of pathetic, hiding behind a little girl?"

"I don't know," he muses, "but I'd _love _to get your boyfriend's thoughts on that. He seems to be something of an expert on the subject. Where is Loverboy anyway?"

"He's coming," I assure him steadily.

He laughs; a harsh, mocking sound. "Yes, from what I've heard you're quite good at making him do _that._"

My traitorous face flushes bright red with anger, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. "Jealous?" I ask, my tone carefully even; quirking one eyebrow at him.

He presses his lips together and makes a short 'hm' sound. It's not a denial. "This could have all gone very differently between us, you know," he says grandly.

"Yes," I agree, taking a couple of steps closer. Rue watches my movements nervously, and I stop when I see Marvel tighten the grip around her waist.

"You could have had the good sense to die when I dropped that tracker jacker nest on you." His eyes narrow dangerously at the reminder of that ordeal.

"Or I could have killed you that first morning in the Games when you were all so busy arguing like a bunch of idiots over which direction to go, you never even noticed us sitting less than 50 feet away from you."

The revelation that we were there, within their grasp, and they let us slip away startles him enough that he loosens his hold on Rue's waist a bit. But what I really need him to do is move the knife from her throat.

"_Or_," I continue, my fingers tightening on the arrow where it meets the string, "I could have just done us _all_ a favour during training and shot you in your ugly, toadying face when I took your _ass down._"

Marvel's livid now. "Listen here you little _bitch_," he snarls, moving the hand with the knife away from Rue's neck to jab it angrily in my direction. Rue's ready when he does and shoves his arm aside with her bound hands, before going limp, dropping to the ground, and rolling hard away from him. As soon as she moves I fire, hitting him just below his collarbone. He falls back against the rock, shouting in pain, and Rue gets to her feet, running fast towards me.

For one perfect instant I think we are actually both going to make it out of this.

But then, for a split second as Rue approaches me, she blocks my view of Marvel. And I wish immediately that she had run for the woods instead of for me, because somehow, in that split second, Marvel bolts upright again and throws the knife in his hand towards us.

I load and fire another arrow at him as soon as his head appears over her shoulder and I realize he's moved. This time I hit him in the neck, blood pouring out of him in a huge gush as the arrow severs his carotid artery. It's a fatal wound.

It's too late, though. Rue falls face-first to the ground only a few feet from me, Marvel's knife embedded deeply in her back, right through her left kidney. In the Arena, with no doctors to help her, the wound is as deadly as the one I gave him.

I drop my bow - if Clove was nearby, she'd have attacked by now - and rush to Rue, my knees slamming hard into the ground as I come to a stop beside her. I don't even feel the pain.

Rue's curled on her side, the knife protruding angrily from her back. My hands flutter uselessly, unsure whether it would hurt her more if I took it out. Instead I reach down to hurriedly untwist the rope from her hands. I won't let her die a captive.

Tears fill my eyes as she says, "I'm sorry, Katniss."

I shake my head vigorously as I undo the last knot and toss away the offending rope.

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry for. I'm the one that's sorry. I'm _so _sorry Rue. This is all my fault," I choke as the words leave my mouth, a sob welling up in my throat. I wanted so badly to protect this little girl, and here she is, dying, because we provoked the Careers and Marvel was heartless enough to use someone so innocent as bait.

The cannon booms. Marvel is dead.

She reaches for my hand and I clutch hers tightly in both of mine. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice reedy already. "It had to happen."

I make some incoherent sound of denial, and she turns her head up to me, a distant look in her eyes. "It'll be better," she promises me. "After."

She doesn't say after what. But she doesn't have to. Cinna promised me that Gale and I weren't alone in this - this fight against the Capitol. I just didn't realize until now how much more we'd have to lose because of that.

I smile at her through my tears. "I'll make sure of it," I promise. "For both of us."

Rue groans, her grip tightening on my hand. "Don't go."

"Course not. Staying right here," I whisper soothingly as I pull her head onto my lap.

"You promised to sing for me," she says, so quietly I barely catch it.

Even though my throat is so tight with tears I can barely breathe, even though my entire body feels like it's contracting in on itself in grief, I cannot break that promise. I remember an old lullaby, one I would often sing to Prim when worry or hunger or sickness kept her from sleeping. It's a simple, soothing song, one that promises a happier place than the world we live in today.

I start singing softly, of a peaceful meadow and soft grass and the warm sun; a place where dreams are sweet and troubles are far away and you are loved, always loved. Rue relaxes against me almost as soon as I start. After the second verse, her eyes flutter shut and her breathing becomes shallower.

As I reach the last lines of the lullaby, a pair of sturdy arms wrap comfortingly around my shoulders. Gale's found us. My voice catches as more tears slide down my face, relief mingling with sorrow and even more guilt, but I finish the song for Rue. Even though her chest is no longer moving.

The last note has just left my lips when the cannon fires.

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_A/N: I know, I'm sorry, I didn't want to do it, but unfortunately it had to happen :( Also, I know a lot of you were hoping to see Thresh this chapter - sorry it wasn't him at the Cornucopia, but I promise he will show up, when the time's right ;) Next chapter will be up Friday._


	26. I See Signs Now All the Time

**A/N: **Thank you again to everyone who reviewed the last couple of chapters (and all the other ones of course)! :)

I just want to clarify something, because a few people have asked about it - it was the girl from District 4 that died from the tracker jacker attack. Gale told Katniss that in the chapter when she woke up from the venom.

Also, for DancingDP - Don't worry, Gale's fine :) He showed up in the clearing at the end of the last chapter, when Katniss was singing to Rue.

**Disclaimer: **'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins. Chapter title and lyrics come from Bloc Party's "Signs."

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**Chapter 25 - I See Signs Now All the Time**

_~ At your funeral I was so upset, so upset_

_In your life you were larger than this, statuesque~_

For a moment everything is eerily silent. Then the mockingjays take up my song, turning the sweet lullaby into a mournful dirge, as though even the birds can feel the tragedy of what's happened.

Gale's hands stroke my back gently. I release Rue's hand and lay her head down softly. Then I bend down to press my lips against her temple, tears still sliding down my face.

I lean back against Gale and he winds his arms tightly around me. After a minute he whispers quietly, "Catnip, we need to go."

Right. The Gamemakers will be wanting us to collect the body. Bodies, I realize, remembering belatedly about Marvel, lying dead a few feet from us.

Anger flares up in me at him, the source of all this destruction. But as I look at him, lying crumpled on the ground, all the bravado and cruelty stripped away from him death, it fades away, replaced with a hollow grief.

It's the Capitol that's truly responsible for all of this. It's the Capitol that should suffer.

It's the Capitol we will _make_ suffer.

I look down at Rue, her still form appearing smaller than ever, the angry red blood pooled around her a stark contrast to the serene innocence that settled over her face as she died. She deserves better than to be left like this.

A few feet into the woods is a bank of wildflowers, violet and yellow and white. A sign that even in the worst Capitol hell, true beauty is still possible. I rise unsteadily to my feet and walk to where the flowers grow, gathering up as many as I can hold.

Gale realizes what I intend to do, and slips Rue's pack off her, then slides the knife gently from her body. He lays her flat on her back, and crosses her arms over her chest. After a moment of thought, he places the knife under her joined hands.

Slowly, one stem at a time, I decorate her body with the flowers, finishing with a halo of colour that rings her whole head.

When I finish, the image she makes is haunting. A message that the Capitol can take our lives but they cannot take _us_. The ugly blade in Rue's hands stands out like an accusation. _The blood is on your hands_, it says.

The cameras probably haven't been broadcasting us as we work, but they'll have to show it when they come back to collect her body. Everyone will see it. Everyone will know we did it. That her death was not meaningless, not to us. That we know who should be held accountable for this atrocity.

We gather our belongings in silence, and prepare to move on. I stop to look at Rue, whispering a soft goodbye. Then my gaze flicks to Marvel's prone figure. His eyes are still open, his expression frozen in a mixture of pain and fear and … relief.

I'm walking towards him without even thinking about it. I crouch down beside his body, considering him for a moment.

"Katniss …" Gale says nervously, wondering what I intend to do and probably thinking we've stayed here too long already. The Gamemakers are not above resorting to extreme measures to force tributes that linger near their kills to move on.

I pull both of my arrows out of his body, needing to keep as many as I can. If I don't take them, they'll be lost for good when they lift him from the Arena. I clean them quickly on the ground. After another moment of thought, I reach one hand out, and close his eyes, then stride quickly back to Gale.

"What did you do that for?" he asks when I reach him, taking my hand in his. "He doesn't deserve it."

I shake my head. Only because I'm fairly certain that we aren't being shown on camera right now do I dare to say, "He didn't deserve this either." I gesture at the whole scene, and Gale looks at me incredulously. "I mean, he earned this death. He was a monster. But he never had a chance to be anything else."

Marvel, Cato, all the Careers that have ever been, were, for all intents and purposes, reaped when they were just babies. They grew up learning only one thing - death. If Gale or I had been born into that, would we have turned out any different?

It doesn't make anything they've done okay. However, on some level, it is almost understandable.

I don't mourn Marvel for who he was. But some part of me does mourn for who he could have been, for who they all could have been, for who _we all_ could have been, were it not for the Capitol.

Gale's features flood with understanding. I had said as much to him that night on the train. It was easy to forget, in the heat of battle and with the Careers so determined to end our lives, that flare of sympathy for their own particular brand of misfortune. Of course it doesn't change anything - sooner or later we'll likely have to kill Cato and Clove ourselves to save our own lives. And I will do it, without hesitation. I just don't see any point in holding on to a grudge against the dead. Not when there's a much worthier target for my hatred.

My eyes lock one last time on Rue, and I can't stop myself from pressing the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips and raising them towards where she is lying. A sign of respect and honour. And love. Gale does the same, and then we turn away as one from the grisly scene.

We leave the small clearing and barely a minute passes before the birds fall silent, one calling out the single low note that signals the hovercraft's approach. I don't look back to see them lift Rue from the Arena. The bird song picks up again a couple minutes later, and I know that she is gone.

It's almost full dark out now. Gale leads us as we walk in solemn silence through the woods. I think we're heading back towards the stream, but we'll never make it before night falls, so I keep an eye out for a tree that we can spend the night in. We find one that'll do, a thick knotted willow with a wide depression at it's centre, about thirty feet up, where the branches fan out and shoot up to the sky.

I've just placed my hand on it to begin the climb up when the anthem begins playing. I stop and we turn to face the spot where the seal is floating in the sky.

The anthem ends and Marvel's face appears, hovering in the night for a few moments before his image is replaced by that of the boy from 3. With everything that happened, I had forgotten about the cannon blast I heard not long after leaving the Cornucopia. It must have been his.

I glance up at Gale, who's regarding the boy's image with regret. I'm not surprised when he performs the District 12 salute for the boy, just as I did for Rue. I raise my hand as well, and we both repeat the gesture a moment later when Rue's face appears above us.

The sky turns black again as Rue's image disappears. After a moment, we turn back to the tree. The climb is awkward with all of our gear - Gale's still carrying Rue's pack as well - and few good footholds on the tree; but we manage our way up. The flat part of the tree is wide enough for us to sit side-by-side and have room for all of our belongings. I realize I haven't eaten since breakfast and we have a quick meal of leftover rabbit and groosling.

When we're done eating, Gale sets his pack behind his head as a make-shift pillow and lies down as best he can in the tree. I curl into his right side, settling my head into the spot where his shoulder meets his chest. He pulls one of our sleeping bags over us then wraps his arms around me. There's no need to rope ourselves in to this tree.

"What happened at the Cornucopia, after I left?" I ask, finally breaking our long silence. I think they're the first words either of us has spoken since we left the site of Rue's death.

Gale sighs heavily. "I didn't want to expose myself by just strolling out onto the plain," he starts, the guilt evident in his voice, even though it's a perfectly reasonable thing. "The copse wasn't far from where the woods meet the side of the cliff, so I went that way, figuring I could cross to the other side out of Cato's line of sight and come up by the lake to grab the boy."

He sighs again, full of regret. "But by the time I made it around, it was too late. Cato was back on his feet, however unsteadily, and Clove had shown up at some point. It looked like she'd dragged the boy over to Cato. The boy … he didn't even fight. Cato just reached out and snapped his neck, like it was nothing."

There's a low bite of anger in his voice as says the last, and he's squeezing me tighter unconsciously. I snake a hand out from under the sleeping bag and lace my fingers through his, stroking my thumb gently along his palm. He relaxes a bit at the familiar motion.

"Cato and Clove took off for the woods as soon as the boy's body hit the ground," Gale says, disgust evident in his tone. "I couldn't follow them without going through the clearing and it didn't seem worth the risk. So I made my way back across the cliff and went to track you down instead."

"I'm glad," I murmur, "that you didn't go after them alone."

Gale chuckles. "Yeah, well I figured even if they didn't kill me, _you_ would for doing that. And you're a hell of lot scarier than they are," he smirks down at me.

"Damn straight," I mutter, leaning up to press my lips against his.

I'd meant it to be a short, soft kiss. But I linger against him, unwilling to separate, and his mouth starts moving more insistently against mine. My lips part of their own volition and our tongues dance together.

Gale shifts to lie on his side, pulling me up the length of his body so that my head rests next to his on the backpack, kissing me more deeply. I slide my fingers into the soft hair just above the nape of his neck. His right leg slips between mine and I hook my left leg over his hips, pressing us even more tightly together. His free hand slides up along my thigh, grabbing my backside. He rolls his hips into me and I whimper with need, swallowing his answering groan.

We're playing with fire here. This really can't go any further than this, no matter how much we might want it to. But after everything that's happened today - everything that's happened since we entered the Arena, really - I can't bring myself to pull away just yet.

We indulge our need for each other as long as we dare, both breathing heavily when we finally have to break apart. I'm reminded of when our relationship first began, and the passionate kisses that were so new to us, as we explored the first steps of physical intimacy together. I can remember countless evenings, coming home from the woods flushed and giddy and unsatisfied in a way I couldn't quite explain. It's much harder to stop now, knowing what we're missing, all the more so since we may well never get to experience it again.

Then I remember poor little Rue, who will never get to experience _anything_ at all ever again, and the overwhelming guilt hits me like a bucket of ice water.

I sigh, unhappy and frustrated, and snuggle more comfortably against Gale, burying my face in his neck. He brushes his lips against the top of my head, and winds his arms around me to hold me securely against him.

There's been too much trauma for one day and I finally notice how completely exhausted I am. Not much time passes before I fall asleep, dreaming of a meadow and mockingjays and Rue, free and weightless, flying safely among the birds.

* * *

It's already light out when I wake the next morning. Gale is still asleep beside me, and I make no move to rouse him. I'm in no rush to leave the relative safety of the tree or the comfort of his arms. After yesterday's bloodshed, I doubt the Gamemakers will feel the need to employ any of their little tricks to drive the remaining tributes together. Not yet, anyway. Tomorrow maybe. But for now, the Capitol's thirst for violence should be satisfied.

Besides, with only six of us left, the Capitol reporters will be out in full force in the Districts, interviewing our family and friends, giving them lots of material to fill today's broadcasts.

I wish I could see what they're saying about us; how our loved ones feel about what's gone on since the Games started. I can imagine Prim, calm and collected in front of the cameras, mature beyond her years and giving away absolutely nothing. The fire and tracker jacker incidents must have been incredibly hard for her to watch, but I know she'd never show anything but total confidence in my ability to come through.

The idea of Rory interacting with reporters from the Capitol is somehow both worrying and amusing. He's so much like Gale, the same fiery hatred of the Capitol ingrained deep inside him. But he's also even more impetuous, and I just hope he doesn't say anything that could get him in trouble.

Vick's so shy I imagine he'll try to avoid the cameras as much as possible. And then there's poor little Posy, who wants nothing more than for her big brother, who's also the closest thing to a father she's ever known, to come home. She'll break the hearts of everyone in Panem without even trying.

Probably they'll interview Madge, since the daughter of the mayor being friends with the tributes would be another novelty in a year when the Games are full of them. The thought of her on camera, so proper but with that rebellious glint in her eyes, makes me smile.

They might interview Peeta Mellark as well, since he came to see me after the reaping. I have no idea what he'll say to them. Somehow, though, I'm not worried about it. He's always had an easy charm about him and I don't doubt he'll have the reporters eating out of the palm of his hand. And I just know he'd never say anything that might hurt our chances.

But of course, the real focus will be on our mothers, after what we revealed in our interviews. I'm sure the Capitol reporters are getting an extremely detailed breakdown of our hypothetical, and tragically interrupted, wedding plans. Though our mothers will probably have to embellish a bit, to keep them interested.

The truth is that weddings in District 12 are usually a very basic affair. The bride will rent a white dress that's been worn by countless others before her. If he can afford it or if there's one in his family that fits, the groom will don a suit; otherwise he'll dress in the cleanest, least worn-out clothes he owns. The couple will go to the Justice Building to fill out some forms and receive a house assignment. Their friends and family will gather together for a meal or a bit of cake if it can be afforded. And there's a traditional song that's sung as the couple crosses the threshold to their new home.

But the heart of the wedding is really the toasting tradition - the couple makes their first fire together, toasts a bit of bread, and shares it. No one really feels married until after the toasting.

The sympathies of the Capitol audience will hardly be roused just by hearing about such a simple, old-fashioned ritual. Our mothers will have to dress up their plans to get their attention, to gain us the support we need to have a chance of making it home safely. If it were to have actually happened, though, our wedding would have been no fancier than that. And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

"Penny for your thoughts," Gale says gently, startling me a bit. I'd been so lost in my own head, I hadn't noticed him stirring.

I look up at him, his grey eyes reflecting the same melancholy I feel right now. "Penny's not worth much here," I quip, trying to keep my tone light but failing pretty miserably at it.

He smiles sadly at me and brushes a stray tendril of hair from my face. "Well what can I offer you then?"

"You," I answer hoarsely, fisting my hands into the front of his shirt. "All I want is you."

"Oh Catnip," he whispers, looking at me tenderly. "That's always been yours."

I pull him down to me, our lips meeting in a lingering kiss.

We stay in the tree for several hours. There's no particular reason for us to leave in any hurry. We eat a breakfast of leftover meat and roots, even letting ourselves each indulge in a cracker and strip of dried beef after not eating much yesterday. We really need to hunt today, but there's plenty of time for that.

Then we tackle the unpleasant task of going through Rue's backpack. I feel like a scavenger, but I know she would want us to have anything that would help us. I wish belatedly that we had thought to take Marvel's pack - I'm sure he had quite the stash in there. There's not much in Rue's bag. She had some leftover rabbit and nuts and roots. Her smaller bottle of water is about half-full, and we split it between our containers, but hold on to the extra bottle. I put her spare pair of socks in my pack. We find her slingshot, and ultimately decide to keep it as well - neither of us has much use for it, but it feels wrong somehow to leave it. If we make it out of here alive and with our belongings, perhaps we can find a way to send it to her family as a token of remembrance.

At the very bottom of her bag we find a disc-like object, no larger than the size of my palm and about an inch thick. There's an indentation at the centre of it, and I try pressing my finger into it. The object gives off a faint light when activated. It's not as useful as a flashlight would be, but if you were foraging for food at night or trapped somewhere dark, it would provide some illumination with less risk than lighting a fire. We stick it in my pack as well since it could come in handy.

It's late morning when we finally decide to head out. Our only real reason for doing so is that our water bottles are starting to run low. We have enough to get through the day, but it'd be better to fill them sooner rather than later. The stream is the only sure source of water we know about at this point - besides the lake, of course, but that's out of the question for obvious reasons - so that's the direction we set out in. It's a couple hours' walk from here, so we should make it there by early afternoon, and we can hunt along the way.

We set an easy pace, seeing no reason to rush. Plus although it's not even midday yet, the Arena is already uncomfortably hot. I've noticed that the temperatures seem to have gotten more extreme each day that the Games go on - increasingly scorching heat during the day, and more bitterly cold every night. If so many tributes hadn't already died from the violence, I'm sure at least some would have frozen to death in the darkness by now.

The very last thing in the world that I want today is more violence. I hope for nothing more than for us to _not _run into any other tributes on our trek to the stream.

You'd think by now I'd have learned how pointless it is to hope for anything at all.

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_A/N:_ _I know, I know, _another_ cliffhanger. Next chapter will be up tomorrow to make up for it :)_


	27. No Place to Hide

**Chapter 26 - No Place to Hide**

We're less than halfway to the stream when we see them.

In a small valley in the forest, about 20 yards away from us, Foxface is squaring off against Cato and Clove.

Foxface has a long knife and is lowered in a defensive crouch, her back to us. Cato has a sword in his right hand and another strapped to his back. Clove is still in possession of the second bow from the Cornucopia, and has it aimed squarely at Foxface. She's probably had enough time since the bloodbath to get better at using it, or she'd have abandoned it for any of the other readily available weapons she had access to. Well, at least before we blew them all up.

We hesitate, unsure of what to do. They haven't spotted us yet. We could turn back the way we came and leave them to fight this out amongst themselves. But there's almost no question that Cato and Clove would overpower Foxface. They're stronger than she is and they'll be driven by anger over the fact that she double-crossed them. Especially since she did it to save _my_ life.

Gale and I exchange a grim look. She's been on our side. We can't abandon her anymore than we could abandon Rue or the boy from District 3.

As much as I hate myself for feeling this way, I wish we hadn't come across them. We can't let Foxface be killed when we could do something to stop it; but we can't kill the Careers either, since we need them to kill her eventually so we won't have to do it ourselves. Not that I actually _want_ her to die, but the fact is that sooner or later she has to for us to have a chance.

I'm almost relieved when Cato spots us a moment later and takes the decision about whether or not to intervene out of our hands.

Gale grabs one of the knives from his belt, and I pull an arrow from my sheath to load my bow. By the time I fire, though, they're already moving towards us and my shot just grazes Cato's right shoulder.

With the Careers' attention on us, I half expect Foxface to turn heel and run. Instead she takes the opportunity to rush at Clove, raising the blade in her hand as she leaps at her. Clove hears the movement and swings to block the blow, knocking Foxface to the ground. Cato, however, is still rushing up the low hill to attack us.

"Foxface - Five, I mean - I have to help her," I say in a rush, inclining my head sharply to the valley below where she's back on her feet.

Foxface has managed to the knock the bow from Clove's hands, but Clove must have had a knife in her belt, because they're circling each dangerously now, a blade in each of their hands, both waiting for an opening to attack the other. I don't have a clear shot from here at Clove; the fact that she's moving isn't helping any.

"Go," Gale agrees, surprising me with his lack of argument. "I've got _him_," he says in a way that clearly indicates he's been looking forward to this moment.

I don't like leaving Gale to deal with Cato on his own, but Clove has nearly 50 pounds on Foxface and if she gets the jump on her, Foxface won't last long. Gale and Cato are at least reasonably well-matched physically.

"_Don't die_!" I command him firmly, then run off down the hill, taking care to steer wide of Cato's path uphill.

I'm about halfway to the valley when I finally get a decent shot at Clove, who's facing me at this point but has her attention locked on Foxface still. She must sense the movement though because she dodges at the last second and the arrow glances off her calf. Blood starts to pool from the wound, but it's not nearly enough to slow her down, especially with the adrenaline that must be pumping through her veins. I'm not sure she even really feels the wound, though she glares up at me.

Foxface takes advantage of Clove's distraction and rushes at her again, managing to tackle her to the ground. Clove lands hard on her back and Foxface leaps on top of her. I speed the rest of the way down the hill to help her.

I'm too late though, because Foxface makes the mistake of raising her blade above her head with both hands, to get more force behind the blow. The position leaves her vulnerable and Clove, who is a much better fighter than she is, doesn't hesitate to take advantage of the opening Foxface has given her.

I'm less than ten feet away from them when Clove raises her right hand and drives the knife still clenched tightly in her fist swiftly into the side of Foxface's neck. The blade enters in almost the exact same spot that my arrow pierced Marvel's throat. Clove rips it violently back out again, slitting Foxface's throat wide open. Blood gushes out of her neck in a hot red stream and she collapses to the ground, dead nearly instantly. The cannon booms before she hits the forest floor.

For a moment I'm frozen in horror at the gruesome scene, but then blind rage consumes me and I'm rushing forward again. By that time, though, Clove has managed to shove Foxface off her and retrieve the still-loaded bow from where she had dropped it, only a couple feet from the site of Foxface's ultimate demise.

Clove leaps expertly to her feet, spinning towards me and aiming the bow in my direction in one smooth motion. I come to a stop in front of her, my stance mimicking hers as we face off against each other, mere inches between the tips of our strung arrows.

We regard each other warily, both breathing heavily from exertion and adrenaline, unsure what to do at this moment. If either of us fires, the other will too. We'll both end up dead, since neither of us would have any choice but to shoot to kill. At this range, there's no chance of missing.

"So," I finally say, feeling compelled to break the tense silence. I can hear metal clanging somewhere behind me, the sounds of the boys fighting. I desperately want to get up there, to help Gale, but I know turning my back on Clove means getting an arrow in it. I won't be much help to Gale if I'm dead. "This is an interesting turn of events."

She chuckles humourlessly, then cocks her head. "I don't suppose I could interest you in a temporary cease-fire?"

I raise a skeptical eyebrow. "Technically you haven't started firing," I point out dryly, nodding my head at her bow.

She grins, a malicious glint in her eye. "I could change that, if you like," she offers.

I roll my eyes. "You're really doing a bang-up job convincing me of your sincerity."

A masculine yelp of pain rings out from above. I can't be sure of who it came from but I flinch automatically anyway, though I don't take my eyes off Clove. I'm surprised to see the same reaction from her.

"Look," she says urgently, looking straight into my eyes so I can see that she means what she's saying, "I know you want to get up there, to give your partner a hand. I do too. I promise not to kill you in the time it takes to join their fight, if you'll do the same. All bets are off after that. Deal?"

I hesitate, still not entirely convinced she won't just murder me in cold-blood the second I turn away from her. But then a loud pained cry rings out again from the plateau above the valley, more of a roar this time than a yelp. Both of our heads whip reflexively in the direction of the sound, the same look of worry on each of our faces when we snap our gazes back to each other.

"Deal!" I shout and we pivot at the same time, racing off in opposite directions towards the hill.

I keep watch out of the corner of my eye for any sign of Clove approaching me and reneging on our agreement as I speed up the hill. She stays true to her word though and the next time I see her is when, almost simultaneously, we both burst into the clearing where the boys are circling each other like wolves battling for dominance.

Gale and Cato are both bloodied, bruises just beginning to emerge on each of their faces. Gale's forehead is split open just above his left eye, a thick line of blood streaming down his face. I feel sick with worry looking at it but remember something my mother once told me, that head wounds bleed a lot at first even when they're very shallow and they close quickly if they are. I can see that the blood is already clotting and force myself to relax. Other than a few scrapes on his arms he doesn't seem badly hurt.

Cato, on the other hand, has a split lip and a rather large gash on the inside of his left forearm. Gale must have gotten him there with his knife, and I assume that was what caused the yell of pain we heard.

The boys don't acknowledge our arrival, but I'm sure they've both noticed it, even Gale who currently has his back to us.

I look over at Clove and realize that our short-lived truce is over, as she's taking aim at Gale. Every protective instinct inside me screams in fury, and I'm firing at her before I even realize that I planned to do so. The arrow lodges in the back of her left shoulder and she shrieks in agony, her shot going wide as she drops the bow.

Almost faster than my eyes can follow she reaches behind her with her good arm and yanks the arrow out of her back. She whirls around and whips the bloodied arrow back at me. I dive out of the way just in time and the arrow embeds itself into the tree behind me.

The sound of metal against metal tells me that Gale and Cato have stopped circling and started fighting again, but I don't have time to spare them a glance because Clove is almost on top of me. I scramble to my feet and she immediately takes a swing at me. I manage to duck it and slam my right elbow hard up into her face. She stumbles back a step and I turn, sprinting towards the tree with the arrow in it. There's a thick branch about 15 feet up and if I can get to it, I'll have a chance to pick both Cato and Clove off from above.

At this point, there's no more consideration to sparing their lives so that we don't have to go head-to-head with Thresh, the only other tribute left. It's kill or be killed.

I reach the tree and start to hurry up it, but Clove is hot on my tail. She grabs my right ankle, and I kick out hard with my left leg, hitting her directly in the face. But the blow doesn't have the force it should since I don't have much leverage right now. She releases my ankle but immediately jumps up, surprisingly spry given her size, and grabs both my feet this time, yanking viciously. I lose my grip on the tree and slam hard, face-first, into the ground below. My bow slips out of my hand, dropping uselessly to the forest floor out of my reach.

I'm already rolling as I fall, and it's a good thing, because Clove pounces on me as soon as I'm on the ground. I lash out with my right arm as I turn, striking her hard across the jaw and knocking her off me.

She rolls for a couple feet before springing back to her feet, rushing at me again, another knife - _where the hell is she_ keeping _those? - _appearing somehow in her hands. I'm ready for her, though, and she's getting careless with frustration - I don't think she expected killing me to be nearly this much trouble. I pull both my legs back at the knees, still lying on my back, and kick out with all the strength I have when she's close enough. My feet slam into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her and sending her sprawling on her back several feet away from me.

I twist on the ground to retrieve my bow, the motion putting Gale and Cato back in my line of sight. Once again I have the feeling that the world is moving in slow motion as I look at them.

Cato raises the sword and swings, apparently aiming for the left side of Gale's torso.

Gale twists at his waist, leaning back and to the right to avoid the blow.

But Cato was feinting, and at the last moment, he changes the angle of his thrust, plunging the tip of the blade deep into Gale's left thigh then ripping it back out again.

Gale roars in agony but manages to raise his right hand to strike back at Cato. He's gripping a knife tightly, but on the wrong angle to stab Cato, the base of the handle sticking out between his thumb and forefinger. His fist connects hard with Cato's temple, the weight of the handle adding to the force of the blow. The blade skids lightly across Cato's cheek as Gale's hand arcs back down, creating a long, shallow cut.

Cato topples to the ground, laid out flat.

Gale, no longer able to stay upright on his injured leg and exhausted from the fight, drops to one knee, breathing hard and clearly struggling not to collapse completely.

For one instant everything is still. Then, all of a sudden, time rushes forward again, speeding up into a dizzying blur.

Clove gets back to her feet, her knife in her right hand. She races forward, towards Gale, blade raised, clearly intending to slit his throat. I'm on my feet again too somehow, screaming Gale's name in warning, running as fast as I can to intercept her, my bow forgotten as raw panic fills every inch of my body. But she's closer to him than I am to her - she'll reach him before I can stop her.

Then the whole forest seems to shake and a split-second later Thresh is barrelling into the clearing, heading straight for Clove. He bats her aside with one arm, tossing her away like a rag-doll. He strides forward to where she's landed, deadly intent written across his face.

I waste no time in rushing straight to Gale, looping his arm on his bad side around my shoulders and dragging him clear of the fight. Cato is struggling to his feet, his eyes locked on Clove, nothing but stark terror in his features.

Thresh approaches her and for the first time I notice the heavy rock in his hand. What happens next is one of the most horrifying things I've ever witnessed, all the more so because I can't help but be extraordinarily grateful for it.

Clove is crouched on the ground, trying to rise to run away. But she never has a chance - as soon as Thresh is within arms' reach of her, he brings the rock down hard on her head. Cato lets an agonized scream at this, and the part of me that's still capable of actual thoughts and emotions is surprised to realize he might have actually cared about her. Clove goes limp after the first blow, but Thresh strikes her twice more. I turn away when her skull starts to cave in, unable to watch anymore.

The cannon sounds and Thresh straightens, backing away from her body and turning to study the rest of us.

Cato looks absolutely devastated, glaring hatefully at Thresh; Gale and I all but forgotten as his rage takes on a new target. But he must still have some sense of self-preservation left because after a moment he seems to realize he's now outnumbered and turns tail to sprint into the woods behind him.

Thresh turns to where we're standing, Gale still leaning heavily on me, both of us looking absolutely shell-shocked. We don't try to run. If he wants to kill us, we'll never make it, not with Gale badly hurt and both of us exhausted and bruised and bloodied from the fight with Cato and Clove. Besides, looking at Thresh, I'm not entirely convinced that he's interested in delivering our deaths.

I still jump a little when Thresh actually speaks, adrenaline and fear and weariness making me tenser than usual. "Rue - you know what happened to her?"

I nod. "She saved my life, after the fire, and we teamed up with her," I start shakily. Thresh doesn't look surprised by this, and that as much as confirms my suspicion that Rue was in contact with him somehow before I woke up after the tracker jacker incident. "We - we were trying to blow up the Careers supplies. We had separated and as soon as I realized something was wrong I went after her. Marvel, the boy from 1, he'd captured her. I tried to help her but -" my voice catches as I remember his knife hurtling into her body. "He killed her before I could stop it. I killed him for it."

"You cared about her," he says. It's not a question, though I treat it like one.

Again, I nod, tears filling my eyes. "She reminded me of my sister. She didn't deserve this. I - I sang to her as she -" my voice catches again. "We buried her in wild flowers, when she was gone."

Thresh considers us for a moment, then nods. "Get out of here. Now. I'll go after Two." He pauses. "If we meet again…" he trails off, but it's clear what he means.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Gale says through clenched teeth, as levelly as he can manage with the amount of pain he's in.

"Let's hope not," Thresh agrees before sprinting off in the direction Cato left.

After a moment where all we can do is stare dazedly after him, I step away from Gale to retrieve my bow and secure it to my backpack. I take a quick look at the wound on his leg, knowing that it needs to be attended to but not wanting to linger here longer than necessary. The bleeding has slowed considerably but hasn't stopped, and isn't likely to anytime soon since he'll have to walk on it long enough for us to get somewhere reasonably safe. It's not bad enough to warrant a tourniquet though, so I cut off the bottom of my jacket and tie it securely around the wound, hoping that'll help staunch the blood-flow.

Then I slide his arm back around my shoulders and we limp off as well, bloody and battered but not yet beaten.

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_A/N: Thanks again to all my lovely readers and reviewers! I'll be back Monday with the next chapter :)_


	28. Inside the Absence of Fear

**A/N: **There's a couple things I want to mention before we get into the chapter itself:

1. I've heard a rumour that FF is doing a purge of M-rated stories with explicit adult content. I don't know if this is true, but in case it is I'm setting up a LiveJournal account (randomchick29 dot livejournal dot com) to host this story (and anything else I might write). It's not quite caught up to where we're at here, but should be sometime over the next couple of days. I've added the link to my author profile as well. If this story does randomly disappear, look for it there.

2. I am not a healthcare worker, blacksmith, or time-traveller from before the 1900s. Why is this relevant, you might be asking? There's an antiquated medical technique that I describe in here. I've tried to make it as accurate as possible, but I fully acknowledge that it may not be perfect. If you are any of those things, feel free to let me know how I could make it better. If you are a time-traveller from before the 1900s, please message me regardless, I'd love to hear your story (…heh).

3. Assume Katniss is right about the cameras. You'll understand when you get there.

4. A HUGE thank you to everyone who's reviewed. I've mentioned before that I've been totally overwhelmed by the response to this story, and that is even more true now that we've crossed the 500 reviews mark. You guys are amazing.

**Disclaimer: **'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins. Chapter title and lyrics are from Jewel's "Absence of Fear."

Okay, without further ado, I give you… Chapter 27.

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**Chapter 27 - Inside the Absence of Fear**

_~Inside the absence of fear there is the hunger, this restlessness inside of me_

_And it knows that you're no stranger, you're my gravity_

_My hands will adore you through all darkness and will lay you out in the moonlight_

_And reinvent your name~_

We walk towards the stream as fast as we can manage with Gale's bad leg. I try to get him to stop to rest several times, but he adamantly refuses each time, gritting his teeth against the pain and insisting he can keep going.

When we reach the stream, we agree that we're still too close to the Cornucopia for comfort. We don't actually know that that's where Cato went, but it's as likely as anything else. Instead of stopping here, we decide to head further downstream.

We walk for hours, passing the point near the spot where Rue had me brought after the tracker jacker attack, into a part of the woods neither of us have seen before. As we get further downstream, the muddy banks with tangled water plants give way to a rocky terrain only dotted occasionally with thin trees. By late afternoon, there's nothing to see for miles but sand and stones, ranging in size from small pebbles to large boulders.

We come to a stop when we finally run out of drinking water. If it had been up to me, we would have stopped far sooner. By the time we do, Gale is almost deathly pale, his entire body soaked in sweat. He's lost a dangerous amount of blood and despite his assertions that it's "really not that bad" the amount of pain he's in is written plainly on his face.

We settle on the bank of the stream and remove our backpacks. Gale props his bad leg up on a low rock in front of him and that seems to provide some measure of relief. He leans back, resting his head on his bag beneath him and closes his eyes, obviously relieved to not be moving anymore. I take Rue's socks out of my backpack and wet them in the stream, then use them to wipe the blood and dirt from our faces and arms as best I can.

Once that's done, I fill all of our bottles with water and place the iodine drops in them. When the water is purifying, I turn to Gale, determined to examine his injury and figure out what, if anything, can be done about it. I wish that my mother or Prim were here for this part. I've never had any talent for healing, though they're both naturals at it. My mother's always said that healers are born, not made. I'll just have to hope that sheer determination to keep Gale alive will make up for my lack of natural skill.

I approach him quietly, not wanting to wake him if he's managed to fall asleep. I kneel down beside his injured leg and carefully undo the makeshift bandage I created out of material from my jacket. He flinches when I peel off the layer closest to the wound, and I whisper a soft apology - for waking him or for hurting him or just for every bad thing that's happened since Prim's name was called at the reaping, I'm not sure.

It's quickly apparent that I'm going to have to remove his pants to actually get a good look at the wound, not to mention clean it out properly. I reach up and begin undoing his belt.

"You know, this was an awful lot of trouble to go to just to get my pants off," he drawls, though his smirk is not quite as cocky as usual when I look up at him. "All you had to do was ask." He winks at me, and I roll my eyes.

"I'm so glad you think this is funny," I mutter as I tug his pants gently down his legs, careful not to graze the wound, leaving him dressed in only his t-shirt and underwear.

"They say laughter is the best medicine," he quips half-heartedly.

"Let's hope they're right, 'cause it's about all we have to work with here," I answer distractedly, taking in a shaky breath as I finally get a clear look at the gash in his leg.

My expression must reveal how bad it is - and it is very bad - because Gale doesn't respond. The wound is deep and still oozing blood. It's almost as long as my palm - the sword must have gone in on an angle, because the blade alone wasn't that wide. If I can't figure out a way to close it, and more importantly _keep_ it closed, it's sure to get infected.

I've seen my mother treat wounds like this many times before. She always starts by cleaning them thoroughly, which I can do once the water is purified. Then she'd take a long piece of a special kind of thread she gets from the apothecary and a needle soaked in strong alcohol, and stitch the flesh back together. She'd apply some sort of herb treatment to the area to speed the healing, then cover the whole thing with a clean bandage.

I don't have any thread or needles here. Anything I could use as a bandage is dirty, with no way for me to clean it well enough to destroy the bacteria that causes infections. If I had some of the herbs Rue treated my tracker jacker stings with, I could try applying those - but I _don't _have any, and nothing seems to be growing around here, and I'm not abandoning Gale to go back upstream and look for something I'm not even sure will work.

I'm on the verge of panicking as I realize there is almost nothing I can do to ensure Gale's recovery. I'm sure the Capitol has some miraculous healing agent that sponsors could buy and Haymitch could send us, but he's been completely silent these last few days. We haven't received anything from him since the ointment that healed my burn.

_The ointment! _Gale said there was some still left - perhaps that would work. But I dismiss the idea almost as soon as it occurs to me, remembering gifts of medicine received by tributes in previous Games. They almost always have one purpose and one purpose only. An ointment that heals burns wouldn't heal anything besides burns.

I suck in a sharp breath, equal parts relieved and horrified as the solution comes to me.

"Katniss." My eyes flick up to Gale's and from the apprehensive look he's giving me, I can tell the same thought has occurred to him.

I'm going to have to cauterize the wound.

A little over two years ago, just after I had turned 16, we were in the woods with Rory. We had finished hunting for the day and were making our way back to the fence. We were about to emerge from the trees when we spotted a pair of Peacekeepers walking along the inside of the fence. We turned and ran back into the forest, but in our haste to get away from their line of sight, Rory didn't notice a root sticking out of the ground. He tripped and fell, and landed on a bad angle on a broken branch jutting out of the earth. It had a sharp end and the angle of his fall drove it deep into his left arm, just above the elbow. Before we could stop him, he'd yanked it out. There was blood everywhere - my mother told us later that he had probably nicked a vein.

We put pressure on the wound, but the blood wouldn't stop flowing. Finally I chanced going back to the fence, to see if the Peacekeepers were gone and we could sneak back in. They _were_ gone, but the fence had been turned on, trapping us on the other side, where no help could reach us. By the time I got back, Rory had lost a lot of blood and was half-delirious. We needed to do something to stop the bleeding, and fast, since it would be hours before we could make it back to get it properly treated.

I'd wanted to apply a tourniquet, but Rory had absolutely refused, knowing that given the circumstances it would probably mean losing his arm. That was when Gale had suggested cauterizing the wound, something his father had taught him how to do. When he explained what it involved, I was horrified, but we didn't have any other choice, not if we wanted to save Rory's life and not leave him crippled.

We'd lit a small fire and Gale had heated up one of his knives in it. When he'd applied it to Rory's arm, I'd had to turn away. The smell of burning flesh and the sizzle of the knife on his skin had almost made me sick. Burns have always been uniquely appalling to me and inflicting one deliberately seemed like the worst sort of cruelty, even if was to save Rory's life. But saved his life it had, and when the fence was finally turned off again, we'd been able to get him to my house where my mother had applied an herb coat that took away the pain and stopped infection from setting in. He still has a scar there and it's all I can do to suppress a shudder any time I see it.

This is what I am going to have to do to Gale now, to save his life. In a way it won't be as bad as when he had done it for Rory, since I at least have the ointment Haymitch sent us. Once I've sealed the wound, I can use the ointment to heal the burn immediately, minimizing Gale's suffering. Assuming, of course, I can get through the first step without fainting.

"Katniss," Gale says again, looking at me reassuringly. I wonder if I look as green as I feel right now. "You can do this."

I'm not actually sure I _can_ do this but I certainly _have _to. I use that knowledge to steel myself, nodding determinedly.

I prepare everything methodically, focusing on one task at a time. I start by lighting a small fire. At least with Cato and Thresh occupied with each other, presumably far away from here, I don't have to worry too much about drawing their attention to us by doing so. Then I pick a knife from Gale's belt, selecting one that's large enough to cover the entire gash at once. I place the blade in the fire, setting the handle carefully on a flat rock outside of the flames.

Next I grab the plastic sheet (or what's left of it anyway) from Gale's pack, and spread it beneath his legs, to keep the dust and dirt away from the injury. I retrieve one of the water bottles and wash the wound thoroughly, then refill the bottle from the stream and add more iodine. I place the other two treated bottles on top of the plastic, to cool the burn that will be left when I'm finished. I dig the tub of ointment out of his backpack and set it beside the bottles, checking its contents and thankfully finding that it's still almost half-full.

My next task is to find something for Gale to hold onto while I do this, to keep from flinching away. I find a large curved branch a few yards away from us and bring it over, bracing it between two boulders above Gale's head. I slice off the bottom of his jacket and cut a smaller piece off of that, then wad the fabric up, giving him something to bite down on so that he doesn't accidentally bite off part of his tongue instead.

We wait a bit longer, to make sure the blade is hot enough but removing it before it starts to glow orange. When it's ready, I wrap my hand in the rest of the fabric from Gale's jacket, to make sure I don't accidentally burn myself, and remove the knife. I sit on top of Gale's legs, pinning them tightly between mine so that he can't kick out. He puts the small wad of material in his mouth, then reaches up and grabs tightly onto the branch.

I force myself to take deep steadying breaths. _Gale needs me to do this. I'm not hurting him, I'm helping him. I have to do this right. I have to fix his injury. I have to _not_ throw up on him while I'm trying to do that_.

Gale nods once, indicating he's ready.

I inhale and exhale once more, and whisper a small, teary "_I'm sorry._" Then, not letting myself think about this any longer, I apply the flat side of the red-hot blade to his skin.

Gale's reaction is instantaneous. His body bows beneath mine in agony, and I use all my weight to keep his legs still. His cries of pain are muffled by his gag, but every one cuts right through me. I'm mumbling apologies over and over again as I hold the knife over his wound. I remember his explanation when he did this to Rory - you have to hold the metal to the flesh long enough to seal it back together, but not so long that the skin starts to melt to the blade. A few seconds is all it takes. I count them off, trying not to rush - I couldn't bear to do this again.

Even though it's only a few seconds, they are the longest of my life. When it's time, I lift the knife, relieved when it comes away easily. The skin underneath is an angry red, already starting to blister, but the wound is closed. It worked.

I almost cry with relief as I toss the blade carelessly towards the stream, never wanting to see it again. Gale's chest is heaving, pained groans emitting from him every few seconds. I reach hurriedly for one of the open water bottles beside me, almost knocking it over in my haste. I grab it and pour the entire contents of the bottle slowly over the burn, the knees of my pants getting soaked as the water slides off Gale's leg to run down the plastic sheeting.

The water must ease some of the sting of the burn because Gale finally relaxes enough to let go of the branch and remove the fabric he'd been biting into, though he's still breathing hard and his jaw is clenched with pain.

"It's almost over," I promise, reassuring myself as much as him.

The bottle of water is empty, so I set it aside and grab the tub of ointment. I coat the tips of my fingers with a thick layer of the viscous substance. I apply it to the burn using a soft swirling motion, careful to keep from brushing the burn with my bare skin, since even that would be unbearably painful with it so fresh.

Almost as soon as the ointment touches it, the colour of the burn starts to fade and the blisters retreat. Gale heaves a huge sigh of relief and I know that it's working. I cover the whole thing with a healthy coat of the ointment but make sure that I leave enough to reapply it later. By the time I'm done, the burn is a smooth, pale pink raised slightly from the rest of his flesh, the edges matching the shape of the blade I used to create it.

I slide off Gale's legs to his right and realize I'm shaking from the ordeal. Which is ridiculous - this was much worse for him than it was for me. I just had to administer the pain - he actually had to suffer through it. All the same, my cheeks are damp with tears. I didn't even know I'd been crying.

"Catnip," Gale whispers roughly, his throat still raw from his pained shouts.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice unusually weak.

He nods. "I'm fine. Doesn't even hurt anymore, I swear."

I have enough sense left in me to grab one of the water bottles and bring it with me as I crawl up to lie beside him. He takes several long sips of the water then passes it back to me. I take a few much smaller ones, and set the bottle aside. I curl into his right side and he wraps an arm around my shoulders as I bury my face in his chest.

"I told you you could do it," Gale whispers soothingly, stroking the side of my face.

I sniffle, but mutter, "I bet you say that to all the girls who let you get stabbed just for the chance to get in your pants."

Gale laughs, a real, genuine laugh; after a moment I do too. We both dissolve into a uncontrollable fit of giggles, fuelled by exhaustion and relief that we actually made it through this day in one piece.

When we finally settle down, Gale squeezes my shoulders and places a soft kiss on my forehead. "C'mon," he says, "We'd better find a place to spend the night."

In the time that we've been here, the sky has grown steadily darker - not from the sun setting, I realize, though it's doing that now as well, but with heavy clouds. The kind that can only mean rain.

We get up and Gale redresses as I gather our things, making sure to refill and purify all the water bottles. A loud crack rings out across the sky - not the cannon, but a clap of thunder. We won't have time to make it back to the forest and find a tree, so instead we head further downstream, looking for an outcropping of rock to take shelter under.

After about ten minutes we find a rock formation with a hole large enough for a person to fit through. I peek inside and discover that it opens into a decent-sized cave. We crawl inside not a moment too soon, as the skies suddenly open up with a heavy downpour after a crack of lightning. The storm is too perfect and too sudden to be natural. My guess is that Cato and Thresh are locked in a game of cat and mouse, and this is designed to keep them focused on each other, providing the Capitol with excitement through the night as the two powerhouses face off.

It means Gale and I will probably be safe for the night. But it also means that by morning, one of the other two will almost certainly be dead, and we'll be driven into battle with whoever remains. By tomorrow night, our fates will probably have been decided, one way or the other.

No rule change allowing two Victors has been announced. I have no hope that one will be at this point, with only four of us remaining. All of our hopes of survival depend on being the last two standing, and the Gamemakers succumbing to the pressure from the audience to spare us.

Assuming the people even still care enough about us to want to see us both live. Perhaps we've destroyed whatever goodwill we had built up with our defiant gestures after Rue's death. Perhaps we haven't given them enough entertainment together. Perhaps their fickleness has ruled the day and now that the novelty of two tributes in love has worn off, they've found someone else to get behind.

At this point, I have no real reason to believe that we won't be dead by this time tomorrow. In all likelihood, this is the last night Gale and I will ever have together.

Our mood is sombre as we set ourselves up inside the cave. I dig out Rue's little light and turn it on, colouring the rock with a gentle blue glow. Gale unzips both of our sleeping bags. He lays one out on the floor, then spreads the other on top of it, zipping the two together. The cave provides some shelter from the cold of night, so he rolls up each of our jackets and sets them at the top of the joined sleeping bags as makeshift pillows. Making the last bed we will likely ever share, I realize.

My heart is heavy as I pull out the food we have left. We never did get to hunt today. There's a bit of rabbit still, and some of Rue's roots and nuts. I add a couple crackers and beef strips, not seeing any reason to hold onto much more than what we'll need for breakfast tomorrow. I also check surreptitiously on the nightlock berries, though not to eat now obviously. They're a little smushed, but largely survived the fight today intact. They'll still be fine when we need them.

We eat in solemn silence, the only sound the heavy patter of the rain falling on the rock above us. When we're done, I take off my boots and Gale does the same, not wanting to drag mud into the sleeping bags. Plus if this is my last night alive, I at least want to spend it comfortably.

We're about to turn off the light and crawl into bed when the anthem rings out over the sounds of the storm. We move to the cave entrance and watch as first Clove, then Foxface's images appear in the sky. As we did yesterday when Rue and the boy from District 3 were shown, we raise our hands to Foxface in the traditional salute. She deserves our respect and honour as much as they did.

The sky goes black again and we start to head back into the heart of the cave when something outside catches my eye. A bolt of lightning briefly lights up the night and I spot a flash of silver drifting down towards the entrance of the cave.

I'm surprised that we'd receive something from Haymitch at this point. I have absolutely no idea what it could be. There's nothing we need right now.

The silver parachute drops in front of the mouth of the cave; a large, circular metal tin attached to it. I pull it inside and we move away from the entrance to sit beside the small light, the better to see what it contains.

I lift the lid off and we peer inside it together to find four small loaves of bread, each one different from the others, resting on a thick layer of cloth. One I recognize as the traditional bread we make back home in the Seam. The others are unfamiliar to me, and my forehead wrinkles in confusion.

Gale picks out one, a crescent shaped loaf made of dark ration grain and sprinkled with seeds. "This is from District 11," he says in amazement.

"How do you know that?" I ask.

He smiles sadly. "Rue described it to me, when you were unconscious from the tracker jackers. We were talking about the foods we missed from back home, hoping some of it might magically appear."

My eyes widen in surprise, as I realize this must have come from the people of District 11 themselves; a gift meant for Rue perhaps, but redirected to us after her death. How much must this have cost them, how many people must have gone without for a day or a week to spare a coin for this gift, from a district nearly as poor as ours?

It's absolutely unheard of for tributes to receive gifts from another district. And, I realize, if that loaf is from District 11, the other two are almost certainly from District 3 and District 5. An acknowledgement of the tributes who saved our lives; a gesture of gratitude for our attempts to save theirs, even though we failed in those efforts.

A sign of solidarity. That we are not alone in this.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I look around the cave. I don't know if the Gamemakers have a camera in here. It seems unlikely that they'd put one in a random cave, just on the chance that someone might stumble into it, although I suppose it's not impossible. More likely they just have one of the cameras outside the cave zoomed in on the entrance, giving the people a view inside our shelter.

I turn in that direction and hold up the loaves. "Our thanks to everyone back home, and to the people of Districts 3, 5, and 11," I say sincerely.

"They won't be forgotten," Gale adds solemnly.

We split off two pieces of each of the three foreign loaves and taste them all. Each one is delicious in its own unique way. Gale goes to retrieve something from his bag to wrap the rest up in, to save for the morning. I reach into the tin to remove the loaf from 12 and add it to the stash.

What I see when I do makes me gasp.

Nestled in the centre of the cloth is a small object, no larger than a pebble, smooth and round and the colour of granite.

Firestone.

Firestone, which creates a fire that makes no smoke and can use anything for fuel, except the metal tin that will safely contain it.

Tears flood my eyes as I realize what Haymitch has truly sent us. Bread from home. The ability to make a fire in this cave.

The only things we need for a toasting. For a wedding.

I know what this means. If Haymitch is giving us the chance to have our wedding now, he doesn't believe we're going to make it out of here alive. Or possibly it's meant to be one last ploy to rouse the sympathies of the Capitol, to spur them to beg the Gamemakers for our lives. Or maybe it's supposed to cement the districts in our favour, to ensure that our deaths will have the impact needed to push the rebellion forward.

I don't care about any of that. In this moment, I decide that nothing that takes place tonight is about the Capitol or the Games or the rebellion or anything but Gale and I. Nothing else matters anymore. Nothing else ever really has.

"Catnip?" Gale asks, wondering what has me so entranced.

I turn to face him, and concern floods his features as he catches sight of my teary eyes. I hold out the tin silently and he looks inside. His eyes shoot back up to mine, wide with understanding and hope and grief as he figures out all the things I have. Finally his expression settles into a question and I nod - I want to do this.

But I guess he needs to hear it out loud, because he asks, his voice thick with emotion, "If I'd asked you to marry me, the night of the reaping, if we hadn't ended up here, what would you have said?"

I smile softly, sadly at him. "Ask me now and find out."

He crawls over to sit in front of me, our knees touching. I set the tin down to let him take my hands in his.

My heart is pounding and I can barely breathe, but it's not with the terror I used to think I'd feel if this moment ever came, when I was younger and thought loving someone like this could only mean loss and pain.

My father's words come back to me - _the point of love is not to survive, but to live_. Because of Gale, I have lived, more than I ever dreamed possible. Our lives have never been easy, but through our love I have known joy and hope and ecstasy and perfection. I've known what it means to give all of yourself to someone and lose none of yourself; to receive all of them in return and become better together than you ever could have been on your own. I've learned how true beauty, true happiness, can blossom even in the darkest of places. And even now, on the brink of losing him and us and everything we ever could have been, I don't regret it, because as devastating as it is, my life would have been hollow if I'd never let myself love him and let him love me in return.

But even more importantly, I have not lost him yet. And I won't let him be taken from me without having all of him that it's within my power to have.

"Katniss Everdeen," Gale says tenderly, looking at me with more love and devotion than I can imagine ever existing in the entire world, "will you marry me?"

"_Yes_," I choke out, overcome with emotion, tears sliding down my face. We crash into each other, our lips meeting in a desperate kiss that leaves me even more breathless when we part.

I try to get a hold of myself as I reach for the tin, to cast the firestone.

"Wait!" Gale blurts out, and I look at him in confusion. "Just … one minute."

He retrieves his backpack and pulls out the snare wire, cutting a small length of it with a knife. Then he grabs the parachute, and slices off a fine strip of the silver material. His nimble fingers start quickly weaving the two together. I realize what he intends to do and look around for something that I can use to do the same. I settle on slicing off the feather at the end of one of my remaining arrows, as well as a strip of the parachute, and set about twining the two into a thin strip.

When we're done, we each have a ring to present the other that contains a small piece of ourselves. Before we were the Capitol's boy and girl on fire, we were just the boy with the snares and the girl with the bows. That is all we will be tonight. It's all we ever wanted to be, so long as we could be it together.

We sit back in front of each other, the tin between us. I pull out the District 12 bread and break off two pieces. Gale's found a couple of sticks on the floor of the cave, and hands one to me. I spear my piece of bread and he does the same with his.

For a moment, we simply stare into each other's eyes. Then Gale holds out his right hand to me, palm up. I place my left hand on top of it, and he slides the ring he's made me onto my fourth finger. More tears escape my eyes as he lifts my hand to his mouth and places a soft kiss to the spot where the ring rests. We repeat the motion in reverse, his left hand on my right, my ring sliding onto his finger. I lace my fingers through his and lift his hand to kiss his palm.

Then Gale lifts the firestone from the tin and casts it back down. The firestone ignites as soon as it hits, burning the cloth but not the metal, and lighting the entire cave in flickering orange. We lift our sticks, holding the bread above the flames until the outside of each piece turns golden brown. Then, as is the custom, we exchange our pieces - Gale eating mine, me eating his. Gale cups my face in his palms and I place my hands on his chest. We lean over the fire to share a slow, sweet kiss, finishing the ceremony and cementing our commitment.

It's possibly the simplest wedding anyone has ever had. But we don't need anything more.

The fire flickers out as the last of the cloth in the tin burns up. I place the metal lid back on top of it, to make sure the last of the flames are smothered, then shove the container out of the way.

Gale reaches for me again and I go willingly, our lips meeting in a passionate kiss. In moments I'm straddling his lap, my fingers twisting in his dark hair, his hands slipping under my back and up my shirt. It's almost the exact position we were in that day in the forest when Rue interrupted us, after I woke from the tracker jacker venom. Only I don't want to stop this time. We deserve a proper wedding night. And we'll probably be dead tomorrow anyway, so it hardly seems to matter anymore if the cameras can see far enough into the cave to capture us.

An idea occurs to me then and I pull away abruptly, before I get too carried away and forget about it. Gale lets out a frustrated groan, and I kiss him quickly. "Sorry," I whisper. "Hold that thought," I add, the promise clear in my voice even as I slip away from him.

He watches me curiously as I grab our backpacks and head to the entrance of the cave. The hole in the rock is small enough that by placing both backpacks side-by-side in front of it, I'm able to completely block it. Any camera outside will have no shot at seeing in now. Hopefully whatever's going on with Cato and Thresh is exciting enough that the Gamemakers won't feel compelled to send a mountain lion into the cave or start a landslide or do something else to draw us out.

The Capitol got to see our wedding. This part is just for us.

I crawl back over to Gale, who's now sitting beside the sleeping bags. He pulls back the top one when I reach him and I slide in. He slips in beside me and zips up the side of the joined bags. Then he reaches over and presses the center of the small light, plunging the cave into darkness.

For a moment a wave of claustrophobia washes over me from the absolute blackness and the stone encasing us. Gale pulls me against him, though, and the feeling vanishes as our mouths seek each others' out, our bodies moulding together instinctively, hands roaming desperately.

Our kiss deepens as we finally let ourselves give in to the desire that's always thrumming between us, that we've had to suppress for these past few days. It feels like it's been years since we've really touched, instead of a mere week. The fact that we thought the last time we came together like this would be the last time ever makes every moment feel more precious, a gift we never expected to receive. The fact that this is likely _actually_ the last time we'll ever get to do so, that by this time tomorrow we'll probably be dead, only makes it more intense.

As we come together, though, I still can't help but think that it shouldn't have been like this.

Our marital bed should have been a firm mattress covered in rough sheets, in a house in the Seam that was ours and ours alone. Not a thin sleeping bag on a hard stone floor in a cold cave.

We should have been able to take our time, shedding off layers of clothing to bare cherished skin to be worshipped in the moonlight by eyes and hands and mouths. Not shoving shirts haphazardly aside to grant us access to what flesh we can, the air too cold to remove them entirely. Not wriggling clumsily out of our lower garments, kicking them aside as best we can within the confines of a sleeping bag, always careful to keep ourselves hidden in case the Capitol's prying eyes have somehow penetrated this supposed safe haven. (Though when Gale's hand slides from where it had been caressing my breast beneath my shirt to stroke the wetness between my legs, his perfect fingers tracing maddening circles on my most sensitive places, my hips writhing mindlessly in time with his movements, this at least seems somewhat less important.)

We should have had all night, all day even, to explore each others' bodies, more familiar than our own, over and over again, slowly and soft, fast and hard, nothing to answer to but the rise and fall of our passion. Not just these few short hours that could be interrupted at any moment, tearing us from each other and thrusting us back into a fight for our lives.

Gale settles between my legs and presses inside me, my legs coming up to wrap around his hips. I whimper in both pleasure and pain, as my bruised limbs and muscles aching from today's fight (another thing that shouldn't have been) stretch to accommodate him. We begin to move together and the pain fades away as I let myself succumb to the blissful sensation of our joining. Tears of joy and grief slip from both our eyes as we make love, our lips fused together in an unending kiss, our hands trailing restlessly over any piece of skin we can reach, bringing each other to the brink of ecstasy only to retreat again, drawing this out, wanting it to last as long as possible.

I cling desperately to Gale as we finally fall over the edge together, swallowing each others' breathless cries of pleasure.

It shouldn't have been like this.

Our wedding shouldn't have been a funeral.

But if we die tomorrow night, at least it will be with the knowledge that we were able to join all of ourselves first - body, heart and soul.

That the Capitol could not take this from us.

That they will take us together, or not at all.

That Gale is mine. And I am his. And that is something the Capitol could never destroy.

The storm continues to rage on outside, cold and violent. But in here, in each others' arms, our love burns brightly enough to warm the entire world, if only for one last night.

* * *

_~I am wanting_

_I am needing you here_

_Inside the absence of fear~_


	29. Light Up As If You Have a Choice

**A/N: **You guys, I just … I don't even know what to say. Reading all your reviews on the last chapter honestly brought me to tears, which is fitting I guess, since most of them were about how I'd brought _you_ to tears. Thank you, so _so_ much.

I was gonna put this up Wednesday, but after the response to the last chapter I didn't want to keep you guys waiting. I'll have the next one up tomorrow. We're in the homestretch now - only 3 left after this one.

**Disclaimer: **'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins. Chapter title and lyrics are from Snow Patrol's "Run," which is pretty much the definitive song for this story to me.

* * *

**Chapter 28 - Light Up, Light Up, As If You Have a Choice**

_~I'll sing it one last time for you, then we really have to go_

_You've been the only thing that's right, in all I've done_

_And I can barely look at you, but every single time I do_

_I know we'll make it anywhere, away from here_

_Light up, light up, as if you have a choice_

_Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you dear_

_Louder, louder and we'll run for our lives_

_I can hardly speak I understand, what you can't raise your voice to say~_

It's just after dawn when I wake, spooned in Gale's arms, a loud _boom_ ringing through the air pulling me from sleep. The rain seems to have stopped - before we fell asleep we redressed (Gale after applying another coat of the burn ointment to his leg) and pulled the backpacks away from the cave entrance, so the Gamemakers wouldn't feel compelled to intervene themselves to restore the audience's view back inside our shelter. Outside the cave the sky is clear in the early morning light. It wasn't thunder, but the cannon. Either Cato or Thresh is dead.

"Who do you think it was?" Gale mumbles sleepily from over my shoulder.

"I don't know," I reply quietly. "Cato was definitely in rough shape after your fight. But I think he wanted it more than Thresh did."

I can still remember the absolute devastation on Cato's face when Clove died; the way she was so worried about him when she and I were facing off. Maybe Haymitch was wrong, and power and brutality aren't the only things the Careers value after all.

As discomfiting as it is, I actually hope it was Thresh that died. Even if there is more humanity in Cato than I thought, it will still be easier to justifying killing him than Thresh when we inevitably have to face whoever remains.

I turn in Gale's arms to face him, stroking the side of his face softly with my fingertips. This is the first morning we've woken up together as husband and wife. It'll probably also be the last.

He leans down to press his mouth to mine in a slow, deep kiss. I savour every second of it. There's no time for anything more, even if there weren't the cameras to worry about. Now that there's only one other tribute left, the Gamemakers could pull out one of their little tricks at any moment to drive us together. Maybe not right away though - people will need time to place their bets on who will survive, after all.

"I love you," I whisper softly when we finally break apart several minutes later.

"I love you, too," Gale says, then his mouth quirks up in a grin in that somehow manages to be both teasing and genuine as he adds, "Mrs. Hawthorne." He takes my left hand from where it's resting against his chest and lifts my palm to his lips, placing a sweet kiss over the ring on my fourth finger.

I laugh and can feel the blush that spreads over my face when he calls me by that name. "That sounds … really weird," I admit sheepishly.

Gale raises an eyebrow. "Good weird or bad weird?"

I think about it for a moment, then decide, "Good weird."

Gale chuckles. "I guess I can live with that." Our expressions turn solemn as the fact that he may not have very long at all to live with it sinks in.

"Do you think there's any hope," I begin wistfully, giving Gale a pointed look from where my face is still half-hidden in his chest to indicate that I'm not opening this conversation for our benefit, but for that of the audience, "of what Caesar suggested - two Victors being allowed - actually happening?"

I can practically feel Caesar Flickerman squirming with discomfort at the reminder of his ill-considered words at the interviews. But if we're going to see this through, to kill Cato and force the Gamemakers to choose between letting us die together and become martyrs or breaking their own rules to allow two Victors - and if we're going to do this without coming across as treasonous and endangering our families - we need to establish why, exactly, we wouldn't just kill ourselves now. It would seem too suspicious if we fought to the end and then refused to turn against each other if the people watching didn't think we had some hope of being allowed out of here together. Caesar did us a bigger favour than he ever could have imagined with his impromptu suggestion.

Gale seems to catch on, as he smiles at me and says, "I think there's always hope, Catnip. The Capitol's not heartless." It's a good thing the cave is still quite dark and our faces are close enough together to be mostly hidden from any cameras looking inside, because Gale looks like he might gag just from saying those words, and I can barely keep from cracking up at hearing them come out of his mouth. An image of Rory, stunned and appalled by his big brother's blatantly untrue statement, pops into my head, and I only _just_ manage to stop myself from laughing out loud. "If we've learned anything from our time here, it's that anything is possible."

I beam brilliantly up at him, and Gale gives me a warning look even as his own eyes are dancing with mirth. "I suppose that's true."

"Course it is," he grins back and leans down to kiss me hard, until we are both breathless and slightly less at risk of bursting into inappropriately hysterical giggles. "It's not over until it's over," he says determinedly.

"No, it's not," I reply, just as resolved, and pull him back down to me for one last lingering kiss before unzipping the sleeping bag and sliding out of it. No point in forestalling the inevitable, tempting as it is to just stay here and wait for Cato to find us or the Gamemakers to force us out.

I crawl over to our bags to retrieve a water bottle and some food for breakfast. I'm absolutely shocked when I spot another silver parachute, this time attached to a square metal box, resting at the entrance of the cave.

Gale pulls it into the cave and sets it on the ground between us. We lift the lid to reveal a basket that contains a veritable feast - fresh apple slices, some goat's cheese, and a tureen with a thick lamb stew, the same as what we ordered in the Training Center the night after the altercations with Cato and Marvel during training.

It strikes me as being very much like the last meal of a prisoner sentenced to death. From the look on Gale's face, he's thinking the same thing.

Still, it's far better than a meal of stale bread and dry beef strips, so we lift the basket out eagerly to dig in.

Gale spots the small object resting beneath it before I do, frowning in confusion at the contents of the box - a circular metal case, small and thin enough to fit in my pocket.

Something about the way it's hidden at the bottom of the container, beneath the basket, strikes me as odd. Reading my expression, Gale shifts subtly to sit directly in front of the cave entrance for a moment, blocking the cameras' view under the pretense of digging out the leftover bread from last night to add to the feast.

I open the container a crack and peek inside quickly, shocked by what I see there. _Why on earth would Haymitch send us this now? _And I'm certain it was Haymitch himself that sent this; that it is no ordinary gift from wealthy sponsors.

It doesn't make any sense, but I close the container and shove it safely into the pocket of my pants anyway. Clearly he thinks its contents will be of use to us at some point.

Gale finishes fishing out the bread and settles back to reveal the cave entrance again. We enjoy the delicious food in silence, both doing our best to mask our curiosity - Gale over what the tin contained; me over why it was sent to us in the first place.

We leave some of the food to eat for lunch - assuming we make it that long - packing it into Gale's bag. I unzip the sleeping bags and roll them up, returning one to each of our bags. I'm pretty sure we'll end up running into Cato today; but if we don't, I wouldn't want to be caught without them at night.

When I finish, I find Gale sitting against one of the cave walls, the tin that held the firestone we used for the toasting in his hands, his expression melancholy.

He catches me watching him, and shoots me a bittersweet smile. "Best gift a tribute's ever gotten," he says, holding the tin up.

My heart clenches painfully, and I crawl over to him. I take the tin out of his hands and set it on the ground, then sit astride his lap. His hands come up to rest on my hips, and I cup his face in my palms.

"Second best," I whisper, then bring my mouth to his.

Gale deepens the kiss, winding his arms tightly around my back to press me firmly against him as I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

We stay like this for a long time, any earlier determination to get this ordeal over with all but disappearing. All we have now to cling to is the desperate hope that the Capitol will spare us both at the last minute. It seems much preferable to cling to each other instead, while we still can.

When we finally break apart, I lean my forehead against his, my fingers twined in his hair as his hands stroke gently up and down my back. "No matter what happens," I whisper hoarsely, "we're in this together."

Gale lifts his right hand to run his thumb softly over my lower lip, caressing my cheek before sliding his fingers into my sleep-loosened hair. "_Always_," he promises vehemently, pulling me back to him for one more passionate kiss.

After a few more minutes we separate and I reluctantly slide off his lap to crawl out of the cave. The sun is shining down brightly now, the day already impossibly hot despite the still-early hour. I had expected the stream to be flowing powerfully after last night's storm, but it seems the Gamemakers are already up to something, as it's all but dried up now. Fortunately we still have two full water bottles and most of a third left. I suspect, at this point, there's only one source of water left in the Arena - the lake by the Cornucopia.

Gale passes all of our gear out to me, and then crawls out of the cave himself. He straps on the belt of knives, down to only a couple after yesterday's events, then throws his backpack over his shoulders.

I start to pull on my own pack but stop, deciding to remove the pouch with the nightlock berries and tie it to the left side of my belt instead. Gale looks at me curiously, and I shrug.

"Maybe we can hold Cato down and just shove them into his mouth," I say for the benefit of the cameras. Really I just want to make sure I have them close at hand, in case I lose my bag at some point in the fight to come.

Gale chuckles. "Don't think anyone's ever tried that approach before."

"Well there's a first time for everything," I say dryly as I slip the sheath of arrows onto my back, then settle my bag overtop it. "We're proof enough of that."

"Right you are," Gale grins, coming over to drop a quick kiss on my lips and take my left hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the ring on my fourth finger. "Which direction do you think?" he asks, taking a look around at the now barren wasteland that surrounds us.

I don't think it really matters - sooner or later the Gamemakers will lead us wherever they want the final showdown to take place. But it seems like that's the kind of thing that shouldn't be said aloud, especially when we need to avoiding giving them any reasons to come down on us.

So instead I say, "Upstream," - well, such as it is, given the dried-up riverbed before us - "seems as good as any."

We head off in that direction, the one that will take us back towards the Cornucopia. We walk for a few hours, stopping at midday to eat the remainder of the feast from this morning. After a couple hours, I noticed that Gale was starting to favour his right leg a bit, but he insisted he was fine. He applied the last of the burn ointment when we stop for lunch, and it seemed to help, though I can't help but worry that some infection might have set into the muscle tissue before I could clean and cauterize the wound yesterday. I suppose it doesn't really matter though - as long as the Gamemakers don't make us wait days to fight Cato, we'll either be dead or back in the Capitol with access to the finest medical care before it can take much of a toll on him. I just hate to see Gale in pain. And, admittedly, I'm worried that it might slow him down when we're facing Cato. Though Cato is almost certainly worse off after having to deal with Thresh when he was already injured, and that gives me some measure of relief.

I realize with a jolt that I've just been assuming that it'll be Cato we'll face, not Thresh. If it is actually Thresh that's still alive, it will make everything much more complicated. What I realized the first morning of training about bringing Rue with us to the end holds true for Thresh as well - if we kill him only to try to kill ourselves after he's dead, the impact in the districts could be catastrophic for the rebellion. I think, at this point, we've done a reasonably good job of earning their support - the gift of bread from three of them last night certainly suggests that's true. But a showdown with Thresh could jeopardize all that goodwill.

The truth is, though, that even knowing that, I would still kill Thresh and turn the districts against us if it meant the chance to save Gale and myself. Gale said it himself - it's their lives or ours. I choose ours.

Still, I hope very much that it's Cato we'll have to deal with.

We're not far from the Cornucopia when I realize that for once my hopes weren't in vain, when all of a sudden the birds stop singing and start crying out in alarm, and Cato comes barrelling straight for us through the trees.

I waste no time in pulling an arrow from the sheath and firing straight at him. The arrow hits him directly in the chest but bounces harmlessly to the ground.

"He's got some sort of body armour!" I shout to Gale.

"Looks like that's all he's got," Gale answers, already rushing towards Cato, knife drawn in his right hand, as I notice what he did - Cato is completely unarmed.

I reload, somewhat dismayed to realize I only have four arrows left but ready to fire if I get a clear shot at Cato's head, which the body armour doesn't seem to cover. One arrow is all I'll need to finish him off.

Cato spots Gale coming for him and weaves to Gale's left to avoid the blade. Gale's faster though, and manages to catch Cato under the chin with his left arm, knocking him to the ground. Gale hurls his knife at Cato as he falls, but Cato uses the momentum from his run to roll out of the way, grabbing the knife from where it embedded in the ground as he does. Gale already has his only other remaining knife drawn. For a tense moment the two stand, glaring at each other, Cato red-faced and panting harshly, Gale as cool as ice.

I'm moving into position to bring Cato's head into the range of my bow when I hear it - dozens of footfalls, crashing heavily through the woods. My head snaps up and I realize that Cato wasn't running towards us at all, but away from the horde of mutts tearing through the forest.

I've never seen this kind of muttation before. They look like huge wolves, but even from this distance there's something unusual about them. Their movements are too human - not like a pack of wild animals swarming on their prey; more like soldiers charging at an opposing army.

Although I'm not sure three people can really be considered an army.

Gale and Cato regard each other for one instant longer, then seem to decide it's not worth sticking around to fight it out if the prize for the winner is to get mauled to death by the beasts bearing down on us.

At the same time we all start sprinting, running blindly away from the pack. Gale catches up with me easily, Cato lagging a few feet behind us. The knife I know Cato has makes me nervous, but I'm guessing he won't want to part with his only weapon against the mutts by throwing it at one of us.

In a couple of minutes the trees give way to the plain of the Cornucopia as we burst out into the open.

"The horn!" I shout to Gale. Climbing up the ridged tail of the Cornucopia to get off the ground is our best shot at surviving this. Hopefully jumping isn't among these mutts' strong suits.

Almost immediately though I realize we aren't going to make it. We've come out of the woods just about as far from the Cornucopia itself as possible. Mutts are already pouring in all over from the trees, cutting off our access to it. I glance to my right, thinking maybe we could escape over the cliff and into the tall grass beyond, as unappealing as that idea is, but it's no use - more mutts are leaping over the edge of the cliff onto the plain, landing and balancing easily - and unnaturally - on their hind legs.

Now that we're on the plain, the abominations are moving more slowly, herding us all towards the centre but not moving in to attack. Not yet, anyway. The Gamemakers apparently want us to fight this out amongst ourselves; the mutts are just here to make sure that we do, and help things along if need be.

At this point the only part of the Cornucopia from which mutts are not emerging is the lake, so I run fast in that direction, no clue what I actually plan to do when I get there. I can hear Gale's footsteps pounding against the ground beside me, but any noise from Cato's movements, if he's even still near us, is drowned out by the incessant barking and snarling of the mutts.

This is why I'm caught completely off-guard when, only about twenty yards from the lake, I suddenly find myself falling forward, a heavy weight on top of me. I see stars when I crash into the ground face-first, all the wind knocked out of me and a sharp pain flaring in my abdomen under the crushing weight on my back. It happened so fast I didn't even have time to scream and now I _can't_, not even as Cato roughly turns me over, grinning cruelly down at me, his eyes wild with hatred and vengeance and just a hint of terror.

He opens his mouth to say something, one last vicious taunt before he slits my throat open I'm sure, but never gets the chance. Gale's last knife flies over my prone body to lodge firmly in Cato's throat, just above the barely-visible line of his body armour.

Cato topples backward, his expression frozen in surprise, and then the cannon booms, signalling his death. It all happened in less than ten seconds.

For one fleeting, foolish moment I hope that Cato dying might mean the mutts will retreat. But of course they don't - in fact they seem to be picking up speed again, closing the distance to the lake more quickly than before. Gale yanks me back to my feet and although I'm still having trouble breathing, I force myself to run, clutching tightly to his hand. We have to get to the water. I still don't know what we'll do when we're there - but there's nowhere else to go.

I let go of Gale long enough to shrug off my backpack, the weight of it too much to handle now. I think I must have broken a rib - maybe several - when Cato tackled me.

Gale pulls his backpack off too, but doesn't drop it - instead he turns to swing it violently, batting away a mutt that was leaping towards his head.

Now that they're closer I can see that each of the mutts has a thick coat of fur, some straight and sleek, others curly, in a range of colours from jet black to silver blond, like the one that leapt at Gale. Their eyes are impossibly human looking - this one's are a brilliant green, almost the same colour as Glimmer's.

Exactly the same colour as Glimmer's.

Exactly the same _eyes_ as Glimmer.

I'm frozen with revulsion as I look around and realize that every one of the pack, now numbering in the hundreds, resembles one of the other tributes. The other _dead _tributes. Twisted and horrible and multiplied dozens of times over, baring their teeth in hatred and howling in rage.

My distraction lasts just long enough for one of the smaller ones - Rue, I realize in horror - to fly at me, claws extended. Gale again uses the bag to bat the mutt away, but not before she manages to scrape my left hip, digging into my skin and tearing away my belt and the pouch of nightlock berries attached there.

I don't know if Gale realizes they're gone, because he's pulling on my arm, yelling at me to run, directing us towards the lake again. I can't very well go back for them so I force myself to snap out of this and make my feet move again.

We make a mad dash for it, the water splashing up around us as we run as fast as we can through the shallows near the shore. When the water is up to my waist I turn back to see that the mutts are apparently reluctant to enter the lake, though at least a couple of the braver ones - the ones that look like the tributes from District 4, I realize - look like they're considering it. They won't stay on the shore for long.

"_Swim_!" Gale hisses desperately.

We can't see the opposite shore from here - if there even is one. But there's nothing else to do, so I slide my bow over my shoulder, securing it diagonally to my body and grab the last arrow in the sheath - some of them must have fallen out when Cato tackled me - not wanting to lose it to the water. I don't even know what good it could do at this point, but it's the only weapon we have left and I'll be damned if I let go - in every sense of the word.

I swim as fast as I can even though every stroke causes an excruciating burn in my side and lower abdomen, both from what I am now sure are several broken ribs, and the deep scratches where the mutt clawed me.

We're maybe 300 yards from the shore when what looks to be a small rock outcropping appears in the distance, another 50 or so yards away. By the time we reach it I can barely move through the pain and Gale has to pull me the last few yards to the stone.

I lie on my back on the rock, gasping for air, each breath like a knife in my torso. Gale climbs onto it as well and I can see that he's dragging his bad leg behind him.

When I finally manage to sit up, I realize that we must be at the very edge of the Arena. The rock that we're sitting on is roughly circular, perhaps twenty feet in diameter. The lake spreads out widely beside and in front of us. The mutts have gathered all along the edge of the shore, though several are now in the water as well, slowly making their way towards us. They aren't very fast swimmers - an extremely small mercy at this point.

Behind us, there is nothing. Literally nothing.

"I don't suppose we could just walk out of here?" I mutter, still struggling to breathe normally, with a nod of my head over my shoulder.

Gale stands up, wincing with pain at the effort. He unstraps his now empty knife belt, and chucks it into the void beyond us, catching it deftly with one hand when it flies back a moment later. The Arena seems to be surrounded by the same kind of force-field as the roof of the Training Center - no surprise there. Can't have your sacrifices escaping after all.

Despair fills me as I realize we are out of options. The mutts in the water are slowly but surely closing in on us. The fact that they are means the Gamemakers have no intention of intervening to save both of us - they'll let the mutts kill one, and then the beasts will retreat so the hovercraft can swoop in to pick up whoever's left as Victor. And we have nothing left to force their hand with. The nightlock berries are back on the shore, completely useless to us here. There's only one arrow left - enough for one of us to kill ourselves, then the other could do the same, assuming the Gamemakers didn't intervene in time to stop the second. But it would be no mere suicide attempt - it would be certain death.

I force myself to my feet and look despondently at Gale. His expression mirrors mine.

"Catnip -" he says sadly, then pauses to suck in a pained breath. "I'll do it. You shouldn't have to."

"Do what?" I ask hoarsely, though I think I know.

He shrugs miserably. "Slit my throat with that arrow. Jump in the lake and hold my breath until I sink to the bottom. Whatever it takes. You should get to go home."

"NO!" I shriek, appalled by the very idea. Tears flood my eyes and I make no effort to stop them. "No, no I can't, I _won't_, not without you. I'd rather die, you _know_ that," I sob. "It should be me. You're stronger, you'd -"

He doesn't let me finish, closing the space between us to cup my face in his palms and shaking his head adamantly. "_No_, I'm not, not without you. I can't - I can't watch you die and be left behind. I _can't_."

His lips crash desperately against mine and I kiss him back with everything I have. The braying of the mutts in the background and the pain in my abdomen fade as I let myself get lost in the feel of Gale against me, kissing him as though I'll die if I stop. Knowing I _will_ die not long after I do.

We are both breathing hard when we finally pull apart, though it has nothing to do with the pain from our injuries this time. Gale leans his forehead against mine, tears streaming down both of our faces. Nothing has ever felt so utterly hopeless.

"Instinct," Gale breathes after a moment, and I look up at him, bewildered. "Each other and our instincts. That's all we have now. Forget about everything else," he instructs, suddenly eerily calm as he echoes my order to him from the start of the Games. "What's your gut instinct telling you to do?"

I inhale and exhale slowly, forcing my panic aside and focusing on nothing but Gale's face in front of me.

And then it hits me.

We have one thing left besides each other and our instincts. Besides my bow and one no-longer-so-useless arrow.

I reach into my pocket and my fingers close around the small round tin that was at the bottom of the gift from Haymitch this morning.

The small round tin, lined with a sturdy foam padding, that contains one firestone - which can use anything except pure metal as fuel. Sand. Rock. Even _water,_ if you could throw it hard enough to make it detonate when it hits the surface.

If I use it to ignite the lake, far enough from where we are, it just might buy us enough time for the Gamemakers to change their minds - to allow two Victors instead of none at all.

And if not - well I said it on the train. _We are going to _burn.

And the Capitol will burn with us.

As much as the thought of burning alive terrifies me - and it does, quite a lot actually - it seems an oddly fitting end to all of this.

There would be no way to stop the resulting blaze from destroying the entire Arena, turning this monument to death into nothing but dust and ash. Nothing could be more perfect.

I pull the tin out of my pocket and open it to reveal its contents to Gale, the firestone still nestled securely in its foam cushion. He inhales sharply, his eyes snapping to mine, as he realizes what I intend to do.

He nods, once, grimly, then leans down to kiss me deeply. "_I love you_," he says fiercely.

"_I love you_," I return just as ardently.

The barking of the mutts is growing louder again - they're almost halfway across by now. Gale steps back, giving me room to slip my bow off from my shoulder. Just as I did during my private session with the Gamemakers, I secure the firestone carefully to my arrow at the base of the arrowhead. A sort of morbid glee takes over me as I line up my shot, remembering the wild applause this clever little trick earned back then.

Bet they wish I wasn't so clever now.

I aim high towards the center of the lake, wanting the arrow to travel as far as possible before landing against the rippling surface of the water. We need to give the Gamemakers enough time, after all, to make the call.

And then, with all the power I can muster, I let the rigged arrow fly.

* * *

_~Have heart my dear, we're bound to be afraid_

_Even if it's just for a few days, making up for all this mess_

_Light up, light up, as if you have a choice_

_Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you dear~_


	30. Saturn in Crosshairs

**A/N: **Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I know that was a rough cliffhanger, so as promised, here's the next one :)

**Disclaimer:** "The Hunger Games" belongs to Suzanne Collins. Chapter title and lyrics come from Rumbleseat's "Saturn in Crosshairs."

* * *

**Chapter 29 - Saturn in Crosshairs**

_~Saturn in crosshairs_

_Kicked me off, made my head clear_

_Rolled on way back through_

_What we've done to end up here_

_Remembering the ones who helped us on_

_Before they moved on_

_I watched that world's show_

_And felt the signs of changing times~_

We wait tensely, frozen in anticipation as our eyes track the smooth arc of the arrow across the sky. It lands in the center of the lake, about 200 yards from us, sending a spray of water into the air as the arrow plunges beneath the surface, mere feet from the approaching mutts.

For a split-second nothing happens - just long enough for the fear that it didn't work to seize my entire body.

And then, in a heartbeat, the water becomes an inferno.

The fire spreads out from the center in all directions. The mutts closest to it howl in torment as the flames reach them, burning them alive.

I toss my bow into the water, no more need for it now, and spin to launch myself at Gale. He wraps his arms tightly around my back and I throw mine over his shoulders. Our mouths collide in a desperately passionate kiss; our hands roaming mindlessly anywhere they can reach, our injuries forgotten; both of us frantic with need to feel each other one last time in case these are indeed our last moments before we are quite literally fused together in an excruciating death.

Tears are pouring down both of our faces as the seconds tick by with no intervention from the Gamemakers. The air around us grows steadily hotter as the fire approaches.

I break our kiss long enough to sob an agonized "_I love you"_ against Gale's mouth when a peek out of the corner of my eye reveals that the flames are now only a couple dozen feet from our rock.

"_Love you so much,_" he growls back, before sealing his lips over mine again.

I've just about lost all hope that we will be spared, as the flames are now engulfing the edges of our rock, when it happens.

Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out urgently above us, pure shock causing our desperate motions to still.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present, for the first time ever - the _double_ victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne! I give you - the tributes of District Twelve!"

Everything seems to be in absolute chaos. I'm not even sure any of this is actually happening, or if I've just finally gone well and truly out of my mind. The fire is still getting closer and part of me suspects it is indeed too good to be true, and the Capitol just decided to play one last sick joke on us. The Arena is filled with the roar of people cheering, the audience in the Capitol being played over the speakers. The noise mingles with the agonized cries of the burning mutts to create a maddening cacophony of sound.

A hovercraft materializes above us a moment later, two metal ladders dropping down, and I decide that perhaps this really is happening after all. Nothing in the world could make me let go of Gale until we are out of here - and maybe not for a long time after that either - and we hold tightly to each other as we each reach out a hand to grab onto a single ladder.

The current freezes us in place and the ladder pulls us up off the rock not a moment too soon, the flames licking at our feet as we ascend into the sky. My gaze is frozen downwards, so I can see that the entire lake and plain are now consumed by the blaze. Only the Cornucopia itself remains unharmed, it's shiny gold surface gleaming in the firelight. The force-field seems to be keeping the fire from spreading beyond the Arena even as it pushes into the woods on the other side of the plain. There's no sign of the mutts anymore, and I wonder if they were even able to retrieve Cato's body in time.

Once we are safely inside the hovercraft and the door closes behind us, the ladder releases us and we both collapse to the ground. I crawl onto Gale's lap - or maybe he pulls me onto it, I'm not really sure. I'm still sobbing and I think he is too, in relief and disbelief and absolute _fucking joy_ that we both got out of there; that it actually worked. That we made the impossible happen.

After a minute, a few of the people in the hovercraft, all dressed in white coats, reach for me, to pull me off of Gale - to treat our injuries, I'll realize later when I'm less hysterical - and we both panic. I start screaming and clutching even more tightly to him and Gale swings out with one arm to try to bat someone away, holding on desperately to me with the other.

Then one of them slides a needle into my neck while Gale is distracted fending off someone else beside him and the last thing I see as I slip into unconsciousness is Gale slumping back as they do the same to him.

I wake in an unfamiliar room that smells strongly of antiseptic. The soft yellow light glowing from above me reveals that there is nothing in here but my bed - no windows, no visible doors. Several tubes are inserted into my right arm, growing out of the wall behind me like vines. I'm naked, but the sheets are soft against my skin, so I don't particularly mind. I raise my right hand to see that it's been scrubbed clean and my nails filed into perfect ovals. I look again and realize that the skin is smooth, eerily so. All the scars are gone; not only the ones I received in the Arena but the ones I had before, from years of hunting.

I try to sit up before I remember about my broken ribs, but there's no pain when I do, so I relax - at least until I feel the wide band circling my waist, restraining me to the bed.

_Gale,_ I think. _I have to find Gale_.

The urge is overwhelming and I start wriggling my hips frenziedly in an attempt to get out from under the band. My movements stop, though, when a portion of the wall slides open and the redheaded Avox girl steps into the room, a tray in her hands.

"Where's Gale?" I croak out without thinking, my voice rough from disuse. I know I'm probably being monitored, but I don't care. I have to know that he's alright.

'_He's fine_,' the girl mouths, smiling gently at me as she presses a button to raise me into a sitting position. My heart clenches when she does, the weight of guilt settling over me at her kindness, which I have done nothing to earn.

"Can I see him?" I ask pathetically.

She shakes her head sadly, setting the tray on my lap, but mouths, _'Soon.'_

She leaves as silently as she entered. The disappointment is crushing, and I look with disinterest at the sparse meal set before me - a clear bowl of broth, a small serving of applesauce, and a glass of water.

For a moment I consider refusing to eat until they let me see him, but dismiss the idea - they'd probably only make me wait longer out of spite. I force myself to pick up the spoon and begin eating, surprised at the amount of difficulty I have getting down even this small portion of food. I wonder how long I've been out. I wasn't that badly injured when they pulled us out, was I?

There's usually a few days between when the Games end and when the Victor is presented, to give the Capitol time to make the starving, wounded, mess of a person look presentable again. It obviously wouldn't do to let people actually see the result of all the suffering they put us through.

Somewhere, Cinna and Portia are designing our looks for the public appearances we will have to make. Haymitch and Effie will be arranging the banquet for our sponsors. Mayor Undersee will be working desperately back in District 12 to prepare our homecoming celebration; the first time he'll ever have had the honour of throwing one, since Haymitch's victory was more than twenty years ago, and Mr. Undersee wasn't appointed mayor until the year after Haymitch won.

Some of the angst over not having Gale with me now fades as I realize that I will actually get to see Prim and my mother again, and Gale's family too. Our mothers will get to throw us a proper wedding now - and a far more lavish one than they could have afforded to before, thanks to the riches we'll both receive as victors.

Thinking about a wedding makes me look down at my left hand in a panic, relief flooding me as I see the simple ring Gale made for me still resting on my left hand. I'm sure I have Haymitch to thank for its presence - the Capitol doctors almost certainly would have thrown out such a crude token, no appreciation for its true value.

I want to find Gale again, now more than ever, but as soon as I resume struggling against the band around my waist, I feel a cold liquid seeping into my vein from one of the tubes in my arm and almost immediately lose consciousness again.

This happens on and off again for an indeterminate amount of time. There's nothing in the room to give me any indication of how much time passes between the rare instances when I am awake, and even then I can tell I'm being drugged as those moments pass in a haze. At one point I think I hear Haymitch yelling, though I can't make out what about. Before I pass out again I'm at least comforted to know that he hasn't abandoned me to the Capitol vultures.

Eventually I wake up completely, actually feeling fully lucid for once. There are no more tubes in my arms, and the band around my waist is gone. I slide the bedcovers off and see that my skin is smooth as satin, no trace of the cuts or bruises or burns from the Games.

I slip out of the bed, relieved when my legs don't give out from under me. There are clothes laid out for me at the foot of the bed and I flinch when I realize they're the same outfit that we all wore in the Arena, only pristinely new; not the tattered rags we were left with at the end of the Games. I glare at them irrationally until I realize that this is what I'm meant to wear to greet my team, which means finally getting out of this room and _finally_ seeing Gale again.

I dress quickly and hurry to stand in front of the wall where I know there's a door, even though I can't see it. But I guess someone can see me, because it slides open immediately. I rush down the hall, looking around desperately for Gale - if they're letting me out, they must be letting him out too.

"Gale!" I shout when I still don't see him and no one appears to tell me where he is.

A voice calls my name in my response, but it's not the one I want to hear. I turn and spot Effie, as well as Haymitch and Cinna, waiting for me in a large chamber at the end of the hall. My feet fly in that direction, uncaring about the cameras watching me or what the audience might think. All I care about is finding out where Gale is.

He's not there, and even though I didn't expect him to be, my expression must be absolutely crestfallen, because Haymitch says comfortingly, "He's fine, sweetheart. He's with Portia."

I surprise even myself by throwing my arms around him, relief and disappointment coursing through me in equal measure. Haymitch pats me awkwardly on the back, and I step away to hug Effie and Cinna in turn, genuinely glad to be back in their company. When the greetings are done, I actually take in their expressions for the first time. Everyone looks happy, as is only appropriate when greeting the tribute you led to victory. Yet there is an undercurrent of tension in the room, and I know immediately that Gale and I are not out of the woods yet. Though I never really thought we would be.

That stunt with the firestone saved our lives, but it undoubtedly pissed the Capitol and President Snow off immensely. It's hard to think of a more rebellious statement than burning their Arena to the ground, even if it was in the name of love. Maybe especially if it was.

I'm suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity about how things have played out in the districts since the start of the Games, but obviously this isn't the time to ask about _that_. Not with every eye in the Capitol on me.

It finally occurs to me to ask, "Why aren't Gale and Portia here?"

"They want to do your reunion live on air at the coronation ceremony," Haymitch explains.

It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to keep the scowl off my face. At least until we get out of this city, we need to play by their rules and seem happy to do so - to make sure we are actually _allowed_ out of the city.

"Go on with Cinna," Haymitch says, patting me on the shoulder. "He has to get you ready. You'll see Gale soon enough."

Effie surprises me by giving my hand a comforting squeeze, and the memory of the cracker she gave me with the mockingjay imprinted on it pops into my head. I add that to the list of things I need to ask about later as I follow Cinna out the door. He leads me away from the cameras, down a few hallways to an elevator that brings us up to the lobby of the Training Center. Apparently the hospital is far underground, beneath even the area we entered after the tribute parade. Aside from a few guards there is no one else there as we cross to the tribute elevator.

We spend the ride up to the 12th floor in solemn silence. I resist the foolish urge to salute as we pass floors 3, and 5, and especially 11. I remember Rue, grinning at me brightly the last time we rode this elevator, and a wave of grief washes over me.

As a result, I am utterly unprepared when the elevator doors slide open on the 12th floor and Venia, Flavius, and Octavia descend on me like a swarm of overly excited birds, chirping so quickly and ecstatically that I can barely catch a word they say. It's clear they're thrilled to see me and I manage to smile back at them fairly effortlessly. I'm honestly happy to see them too, it's just that there's so much else that's weighing on me right now that they're a bit much to take.

They sweep me into the dining room and I finally get to have a real meal - roast beef and peas and soft rolls. My appetite has returned and I ask for seconds after clearing my plate, only to be refused.

"They don't want it all coming back up on stage," Octavia tells me regretfully. But she slips me an extra roll under the table anyway and I smile at her gratefully.

When I'm done my food, they lead me to the room that was technically mine, though I never actually used it after the shower on the first night, other than to dress and for interview practice with Effie. As we enter, I look longingly at the closed door of the room across the hall, the one that was Gale's and mine. I wonder if he's in there and think briefly about making a run for it, to kick in the door and find out.

Cinna catches me looking at it, though, and shakes his head. "They're not in there." Cinna's never lied to me, not that I know of anyway, but I'm still not entirely sure if he's telling the truth now or just saying that to keep me on task for this afternoon. "Only a few more hours, Katniss. I promise," he assures me.

I sigh unhappily, but follow my team into the other bedroom without further protest. Cinna disappears while the prep team sets about getting me ready for tonight's ceremony.

They take care of the shower settings for me, and as I step in, I catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. I can't believe how skinny I've gotten in what - two weeks? We were in the Arena for a little over a week, and I don't know how much time has actually passed since the end of the Games, but it's usually around a week. I've always had a lean build, but my body is almost all angles now. Again I wonder if my injuries weren't worse than I thought, if whatever they had to do to me afterwards meant keeping me off of solid foods for so long.

When I'm done in the shower, my team does my hair, nails, and make-up, talking excitedly the whole time; thankfully more to each other than to me. They prattle on endlessly about the Games and I tune them out, unable to decide whether it's better or worse that they talk more about what they were doing during the Games than the actual bloodshed that took place. I don't particularly want to relive those moments - and I'll have to soon enough anyway - but their total shallowness is galling.

Cinna returns when they're finished a couple hours later, a simple yellow dress draped across his arms.

"Given up on the whole 'girl on fire' thing?" I ask dryly. "I think it might have gotten a tad overplayed, all things considered," I can't resist adding, even though I know I probably shouldn't.

Cinna chuckles. "I never give up on something before its time," he says cryptically as he slides the dress over my head. The first thing I notice is the padding over my breasts, accentuating what little curves I have left after the Games.

I look down at my chest, then back at Cinna, one eyebrow raised in displeasure. "I know," he says before I can open my mouth. "But it could have been worse - the Gamemakers wanted to enhance you surgically." I shudder at the idea, knowing that the first thing I'd have done with my winnings would be to find someone willing to undo it, Capitol be damned. "Haymitch adamantly refused. This was the compromise."

Cinna hands me a pair of shoes, delicate gold sandals with a small heel, lower than that of the pair from the pre-Games interviews.

I turn to examine myself in the mirror. I'm still the 'girl on fire' - but a much gentler version than before. The sheer top layer of the dress glows softly, making it look as though I'm wearing candlelight. The sleeveless dress hangs lightly on my body, extra layers of fabric around my hips flaring into the knee-length skirt, creating the illusion of a curvier figure than what I have naturally. My ebony hair falls in gentle waves over my shoulder, and the makeup rounds out and fills the sharp angles of my face.

Like everything else we have done inside the Capitol, this image is very calculated. I somehow look both innocent and mature - old enough to marry the only boy I've ever loved; naive enough to act rashly and without consideration of consequences to save him.

That is the balance we will have to strike tonight. To convince the Gamemakers and their audience and President Snow that our actions in the Games - at the end of them especially - were no more than two people madly in love doing whatever it took to not have to face a life without each other.

"What do you think?" Cinna asks.

"It's perfect," I breathe, not entirely able to keep the edge of steel out of my voice. Cinna smiles knowingly at me when I meet his eyes.

We take the elevator back to the level that contained the gymnasium where we trained before the Games. Traditionally, the Victor and his or her support team rise from beneath the stage to greet the Capitol audience - first the prep team, then the escort, the stylist, the mentor, and finally the Victor. This year though, with two Victors, the whole set-up has had to be rethought. Cinna drops me off with a kiss on my cheek at a poorly lit area under the stage that smells of fresh paint and still has piles of saw dust gathered in the corners. A brand new metal plate has been constructed to lift me up to the stage. Some distance to my right is a makeshift wall, the seams of the drywall still visible.

Gale is on the other side of that wall. I'm tempted to just start pulling it apart with my bare hands to get to him, even though I know my prep team will be livid at me for ruining the fine manicure they've given me.

I'm eyeing it spitefully, when Effie startles the living daylights out of me as she appears at my side out of nowhere. The roar of the crowd above me is so loud, it must have drowned out the usual clacking of her heels. I'm pretty sure this is the first time in her life she's ever managed to sneak up on someone.

Effie smiles apologetically at me. "You look lovely dear," she says kindly.

"Thank you, so do you," I reply, smiling back at her. The vibrant purple evening gown she's wearing is stunning, and she's actually chosen a more natural-looking wig for this occasion. Her makeup is still cartoonish, but overall the look is a vast improvement from her typical pre-Games attire. "Where's Haymitch?" I don't know why, but for some reason I figured if anyone would come see me before this, it would be him.

"He's with Gale," she answers. "Trying to stop him from tearing down that wall with his bare hands, I'm guessing," she adds, winking at me, and I blush.

Effie's expression turns unusually serious then, as she glances around the musty space, considering something very carefully. She seems to reach a decision, and offers, "How about a hug for luck?"

I put my arms around her shoulders, unsurprised when she begins speaking quietly and hurriedly into my ear as we embrace, her lips hidden behind my hair. "You know the danger's not over yet?" I nod, smiling for the cameras as though she's just told me something sweet. "You know what you have to do?"

"Of course," I giggle brightly, again for the benefit of anyone listening.

Effie gives me a firm squeeze, whispering, "I knew you two would do great things. And, I think, you're only getting started." She takes a step back then, and raises one hand to brush my hair back in place.

"Thank you, Effie. For everything," I say sincerely.

She smiles at me conspiratorially, cupping my face briefly in her palms. "Remember, we'll be right there with you," she promises, and I know she doesn't just mean tonight. "Don't be nervous, dear. This is your night. Enjoy it."

She leads me onto the metal circle and embraces me briefly once more, then disappears into the darkness to take her own place.

My heart is racing as I wait for the plate to start to rise; the dark, dank room and thundering of the crowd overhead making it hard to breathe. Somehow, in all of our planning and preparing I never really let myself consider this moment, when I would have to face the Capitol again and convince them that none of what we did was intentional. When our lives and our families' lives would hang on every word, every gesture. Our plans always ended at our attempted double-suicide. I'm not sure I ever really believed that they would succeed; that Gale and I would actually both be allowed to live.

Now that we have, I realize we are both in more danger than ever before. Every second in front of the cameras and the eyes of the Capitol carries with it the risk of discovery. The fact that my stunt with the firestone genuinely was a last desperate attempt to save Gale and myself, neither of us willing to face a life without the other, hardly even seems to matter. Because that's certainly not all it was, and the Capitol will be watching us vigilantly for even the slightest hint of defiance.

_Just get through tonight_, I tell myself sternly. Get through tonight, and through the interviews tomorrow, and then, when we are safely away from the Capitol, figure out what has to happen next, to keep ourselves and our families safe.

The anthem rings out, muffled by the wood above me. It finishes and Caesar Flickerman comes out to greet the audience. At least he can be counted on to get every word right. I'm sure he's in hot water with the Capitol too for his role in all this thanks to opening up the idea of two Victors at the interviews. He'll want to help us, if for no other reason than to help himself as well.

The prep teams are introduced to loud cheers and I can just picture Venia, Flavius, and Octavia basking in the spotlight, completely oblivious to the firestorm they are standing in the middle of. Effie is brought out next, then Cinna and Portia, both of whom receive huge amounts of applause. No surprise there - they've both made a fabulous debut. Then Haymitch is called and the audience positively roars at his appearance, the first mentor to ever bring two tributes out of the Arena alive.

The metal plate starts to rise then, and my breath catches in my throat. The bright lights blind me momentarily as I emerge onto the stage, the deafening roar of the audience reverberating through my entire body.

The plate hasn't even come to a stop when I'm already stepping off it, flying towards the spot to my right where I know Gale will be before I even see him. I catch sight of him quickly though, a few yards away and closing the distance between us as swiftly as I am. He looks healthy and safe and _alive_ and so impossibly beautiful, beaming at me with joy and relief and love, so much love. My legs can't carry me fast enough and I launch myself at him when he's still a few feet away. He catches my slight weight easily as I throw my arms around his neck and wrap my legs around his waist. Our mouths crash together in a hungry kiss, both of us oblivious to the wild screams and thunderous applause of the audience; to anything but each other.

I don't know how long we stay locked together like this. Eventually someone - Caesar, I think, though I really couldn't say for sure - comes over to tap Gale on the shoulder, trying to get on with the show. I feel Gale shrug him off, and another ecstatic roar goes up in the crowd. It's Haymitch that finally gets our attention with a firm but good-natured squeeze on my arm. We break apart, breathless and wild-eyed.

I remember where we are long enough to unwind my legs from Gale's waist, and he sets me down, but only for a moment before sweeping me up bridal-style to carry me to the Victor's chair at center stage, earning us another round of raucous applause. Normally the Victor's chair is a single ornate throne from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games before being crowned. Since there are two of us this year, it's been replaced with a plush red velvet loveseat. Gale sits down in the middle of it, settling me across his lap, one arm still wrapped around my back to hold me tightly to him. I lean up to place a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw. Gale plucks my left hand from where it's fisted tightly into the front of his shirt, raising it to his mouth and pressing his lips against the ring still resting on my fourth finger. I pull him back down to me, kissing him deeply for a long moment before finally releasing him and burrowing my head into the crook of his shoulder.

It takes Caesar several more minutes to finally get the overjoyed crowd to settle down enough to begin the real show. Tonight's ceremony will last exactly three hours and is required viewing for all of Panem. Most of that time will be taken up by a film showing the highlights of the Games, and I huddle closer to Gale as I realize just how badly I don't want to see this. But, much like with recap of our reaping, I know I have to.

The lights dim and the Capitol seal appears on the large screen in front of us. My left hand is still resting in Gale's right one, his thumb stroking gently across the backs of my fingers, stopping occasionally to trace the outline of the ring he made me. The motion is soothing and I use it to ground me, to protect against the horror of having to watch our twenty-two fellow tributes die all over again - several of them at our hands.

Each year, someone is charged with the daunting task of condensing three weeks of footage from countless cameras into a three-hour presentation. It comes as no surprise to me when right from the outset a disproportionate amount of time is spent on Gale and I in the film for the 74th Games. The filmmakers always have to decide what story to tell about the Games. This year, for the first time, it will be a love story.

The first half hour of the film focuses on the pre-Games events. It moves quickly through the reapings in the other districts, but shows ours in its entirety (except for the crowd's salute, which is conspicuously absent) - the place where this all began. Highlights from the tribute parade are shown next - our fiery entrance to the Capitol that seems so portentous in retrospect - and then the training scores. They skip over much of what happened in the interviews, showing only the Careers' and then Gale's and mine. When they reach the part where Gale revealed his intention to have proposed on the night of our reaping, Gale grins down at me, pressing another kiss to the ring on my hand, and happy tears fill my eyes despite our current circumstances. At least one good thing came out of the Arena.

The crowd goes wild again in response, drowning out most of what was said next. On the screen, Caesar asks Gale what he would do if we could both be Victors and I can't help but glance at Caesar as the crowd roars once more. He's smiling proudly and waving to them, but I doubt he's truly as pleased as he's acting. The Capitol won't let him forget his role in all this any time soon, unintentional as it may have been.

The Games' portion starts with detailed coverage of the bloodbath. Watching it now, it's obvious that the boy from 9 was indeed trying to alert me to the District 4 boy's presence and I feel both guilty and grateful at his actions. I'm a bit surprised that the filmmakers actually showed that, but I suppose it all happened so fast that they didn't have much choice. Gale's face is solemn as they show him throwing the spear that killed the boy from 4 - the one that saved my life. There's a shot of us fleeing together into the woods after I wounded Clove, and then several minutes covering the rest of the deaths that day.

After that, the filmmakers basically alternate between shots of us and shots of the other tributes dying. Several times those overlap, since almost everyone else that died after the bloodbath did so near or because of us. Watching the deaths happen, one after another like this, makes me feel awful - like a harbinger of death. More than ever now I want to make sure that those who died because they helped us - and even those that didn't - won't have lost their lives in vain.

They don't show how either Foxface or the boy from 3 came to be allied - well, supposedly allied - with the Career pack. The boy from 3 I more or less understand at this point, but I still don't know what Foxface offered to convince the Careers to let her join them, though it seems obvious her intent was always to double-cross them. I'll have to remember to ask Haymitch or Effie about that - it was almost certainly shown in the live broadcast, before her true allegiance was revealed.

The death of the girl from 8 is covered quickly since we had little involvement in that, other than being within earshot of it. Then there's the wall of fire and I can practically feel the smoke choking me again, the oppressive heat at my back. The boy from 10 was indeed caught in the path of the blaze, his crippled leg slowing him down too much to escape. They show the fireball burn my leg; my sobbing over Gale by the pool; fleeing from the pack. My stand-off with the Careers is shown in its entirety, but they leave out Foxface's assistance, trying to cover up the silent conspiracy that arose in the Arena to help us. The thought angers me immensely, and I hope they weren't able to do that in the live broadcast - her people should know what she did; that she hadn't turned her back on them and all that they believe.

Once the tracker jacker nest drops and the girl from 4 dies, the scene shifts to Gale in the tall grass. We both shudder when we get a look at the muttation that attacked him, some horrible reptilian beast. For the first time we see that the reason it didn't attack him again even though it stalked him throughout the day was because Thresh would appear to lead it off every so often. Apparently _that_ is safe enough for the Capitol to show, the supposed game of cat and mouse between two tributes and one of its monstrosities.

They cut away again when Gale reaches the Cornucopia, skipping over his encounter with the boy from 3 and going straight to when Rue found him and lead him to me. The question of how she got me to safety is also left unanswered. I try to work out the distances, to figure out if Thresh could have gotten away long enough to do it and suppose it's not impossible. Rue told me she knew how to get help when needed it - if she had some way to summon Thresh, and didn't have to track him down herself, he could have done it easily. What that would have been is still a mystery, though.

They show our reunion when I awoke from the tracker jacker venom - not much of Gale recounting the events of the previous days, but all of our near loss of control on the forest floor. The audience hoots appreciatively and I turn beet red, Gale shifting uncomfortably beneath me. His line about my mother killing him gets a huge laugh, even though everyone here has surely heard it numerous times by now.

We see Glimmer leave the Cornucopia, still half-deliriously from the tracker jacker venom but determined to find me and kill me while I'm still weakened, only to end up hung from the trees in Gale's trap. The film quickly glosses over how the Careers' supplies were destroyed to show Cato killing the boy from 3.

My heart clenches painfully when the next image that appears is Rue, in Marvel's clutches. They show the entire confrontation that led to her death and it's all I can do not to turn away as I watch my futile rescue attempt; Marvel's knife lodging in her back; my arrow in his throat just a millisecond too late. My song is shown in full, every word, and there are tears in my eyes again by the end of it. Gale squeezes my shoulders comfortingly.

They don't show the funeral we gave her. Or my brief and impromptu eulogy for Marvel. Neither could be considered anything other than inflammatory.

The fight that ensued when we came across Cato and Clove menacing Foxface is also shown in full. I'm amazed at how quickly it all went down, no more than a few minutes passing from when we first encountered them to when Thresh appeared, killing Clove and chasing off Cato. They don't show how he deliberately let us go, of course.

Then I watch myself cauterize the wound on Gale's leg, cringing at the sound of his pain - pain that I hate having caused, even if it was necessary.

A complete hush falls over the crowd as we retreat into the cave. Tears slip down my face unbidden as I see the parachute arrive; the realization of what it truly contains; Gale's proposal; fashioning the rings. And finally our simple, perfect wedding.

Gale leans down to brush his lips against my ear. "I love you," he whispers, his voice deep and warm, like a balm to my soul.

"Always," I answer, leaning back to place my lips against his at the same moment that our counterparts on the screen come together after exchanging the toasted bread.

The picture fades to black, then flashes back to life as dramatic music swells. We see the final clash between Thresh and Cato. Even injured, Cato managed to evade Thresh for hours, long enough to get the body armor from his sponsors that ultimately saved his life - from Thresh, at least. The confrontation ends when Cato finally manages to get the jump on Thresh, just after dawn, and drives a spear straight through his heart.

After that, the scene skips straight to the woods the following morning, Cato barrelling towards us; then there's his brief stand-off with Gale; the mutts crashing through the trees, chasing us to the plain, to the lake. Cato tackles me and then Gale's knife is in his throat and we are swimming through the water, reaching the rock at the edge of the Arena.

Gale and I both tense as the moment with the firestone arrow arrives. So far the filmmakers have been careful to avoid showing anything that might hint at our rebelliousness. But there is nothing they can do to avoid showing this, the climax of the Games.

Working for us is the fact that we both look absolutely distraught, the picture of devastation as we each rail against the idea of losing the other.

Working against us is just about everything else.

The filmmakers do us one small favour when they end the video not with the announcement of our victory, but with us collapsing together on the floor of the hovercraft, clinging desperately to each other and sobbing with disbelief that we are still together.

No one could argue that the 'driven-crazy-by-love' scenario we are going to have to work is untrue. The problem is that it will be very hard to argue that it is the _whole_ truth.

The anthem begins playing again and we rise from the loveseat. It's strange - I had expected to feel horrified or terrified or even just plain numb when the film ended. Instead, I can't decide whether I'm angry or relieved. The filmmakers have done their best to white-wash our rebelliousness during the Games, to present the most sanitized version of events possible. I should be grateful - I _am_ grateful. Yet I'm also furious at the way it's stripped most of the meaning from the Games, and from the deaths of the other tributes. The fact that the districts must already know the truth of what happened is the only thing that makes me feel better about the filmmakers' distortion of reality.

Well, that and the fact that if they hadn't, we'd never have made it off this stage alive.

President Snow himself appears from the wings and I school my features into as neutral an expression as I can manage, letting none of the terror that I feel in his presence show. Gale clasps my hand tightly in his. I look up at him and he gives me a small reassuring smile that looks only slightly forced.

A little girl bearing a cushion with the Victor crown sitting atop it follows Snow out. They come to a stop in front of us, and the crowd murmurs in confusion as they see that there's only one crown.

For an instant I'm gripped with fear that Snow's just going to execute one of us right now and leave only one Victor standing after all.

He doesn't though - he simply twists the crown and it separates into two halves.

As Snow comes to stand in front of us, I'm overwhelmed by the smell of rose, emanating nauseatingly (and unnaturally) from a single crimson red blossom on his lapel. I'll never be able to look at the flowers the same way again. He's smiling as he places one half of the crown on each of our heads, but his eyes snake-like eyes are cruel and unforgiving.

Our message that we are in everything together, that we will not be broken, has obviously been received loud and clear. Just as obvious is the fact that although the firestone arrow was my idea, we will both be punished for this. Snow _wants_, very much, to see us broken, separately or together.

Only thinking about Prim and my mother stops me from telling him now that he's going to be sorely disappointed.

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so now they've made it through the Games, I can tell you all this: yes, there WILL be a sequel! More details to come after the last chapter is up, but since a bunch of people have asked about it, I figured I could let you know now (since it doesn't spoil anything anymore) that I am indeed working on an AU "Catching Fire" set in this universe now :)_

_But until then, there are two more chapters left in this story! Next one will be up Friday, and I'll probably post the last one on Saturday._


	31. Smile Like You Mean It

**Disclaimer: **'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins. Chapter title and lyrics are from The Killers' "Smile Like You Mean It."

* * *

**Chapter 30 - Smile Like You Mean It**

_~Dreams aren't what they used to be_

_Some things sat by so carelessly~_

After several long minutes of bowing and waving as the audience cheers wildly, Caesar Flickerman finally closes the show with a reminder to tune in for our final interviews tomorrow. Not that anyone has a choice about that.

More than anything right now I want a moment alone with Gale, but that's not going to happen anytime soon, as Effie and Haymitch intercept us the second we're off the stage to whisk us to the president's mansion for the Victory Banquet, an event I'm now absolutely dreading. Walking into Snow's home somehow feels more dangerous than even entering the Arena did.

Haymitch and Effie have organized a sumptuous feast, but we barely get to eat any of it as Capitol officials and the most generous of our sponsors vie for our attention all night long. One beaming face after another flashes by us, offering congratulations and begging for a picture with the star-crossed lovers of District 12 - proof that they were here; that they were a part of our story. More than a few of them will be regretting that when the rebellion fully takes off, I'm betting.

Snow thankfully never approaches us, though I catch a glimpse of him occasionally and tense every time I do. All night I make myself keep laughing and smiling and thanking people, one hand clasped securely in Gale's, the other around a glass of champagne that never seems to empty even as I take care to make sure I don't become as intoxicated as the guests around me. Though for the first time, I think I truly appreciate just why Haymitch must drink as much as he does.

The sky is just beginning to lighten when we stagger back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center.

"Interviews are at two this afternoon," Haymitch tells us as we step off the elevator.

Gale and I nod tiredly in acknowledgement, and then start to head together to the room we shared before the Games. I stop though, when I notice Haymitch and Effie exchanging an odd look.

"Was there something else?" I ask, Gale frowning beside me.

They both hesitate, glancing again at each other. Effie looks like she's about to speak when Haymitch shakes his head sharply in her direction and she drops her gaze to the floor. His expression is neutral, but there's a hint of regret in his eyes when he says, "Don't worry about it. We'll talk tonight. Get some sleep."

"Alright," I agree reluctantly, certain that there's something important we should know but too exhausted to press any further. Gale tugs gently on my hand and I follow him down the hallway to our room.

I step into the bedroom ahead of Gale, the familiarity of the space easing some of the unsettled feeling Haymitch's expression had left me with. It's also a huge relief to finally be alone with Gale again, away from the cameras, and the chaos of the Capitol crowd and the Games before that.

Except that now that we _are_ alone, I find myself feeling unusually awkward. So much has happened that we haven't had time to really process; there are so many things we need to talk about but can't, not in here. I briefly consider suggesting a trip up to the roof so that we could speak freely, but dismiss the idea since I don't even know where to start.

"Home sweet home," Gale mutters wryly as he shuts the door behind us.

I snort quietly and give him a small tired smile before moving further into the room, kicking off my sandals as I do.

My movements feel strange, foreign; as though my body is not really my own. My skin feels too tight, too shiny and perfect and new, free as it is now of a life's worth of scars. I feel like something's been taken from me, something important.

A great many things have been taken from me over the last few weeks, I suppose.

But not the things that matter most.

I stop a few paces from the massive bed, which looks more inviting than ever after weeks of sleeping in trees and caves and hospitals, and turn slowly to face Gale. He's watching me cautiously from a couple feet away, trying to read my mood.

I study him from head to toe, drinking in the sight of him, now that I finally have the opportunity to do so. I notice for the first time how Portia dressed him to complement my outfit - leather boots, black pants, shirt the same yellow as my dress. While the effect on me was nothing but sweetness and light, he looks strong, powerful. Like me, though, all traces of the Arena have been removed from his skin - there's no sign of the cut on his forehead from the fight with Cato; nor the scar he'd had there for years from a misfired arrow in the woods when I was teaching him to use a bow. The Capitol's work has made him look younger, but his slate grey eyes appear old beyond his years. I imagine mine must look much the same, aged prematurely by all the things we've seen and done.

He's still never looked more handsome to me. Though the fact that the last time I saw him we both almost died could have something to do with that.

Without a word, I reach behind me and undo the buttons of the dress, letting it slip from my body to pool at my feet. There's nothing beneath the dress, and Gale sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes darkening as he steps closer to me.

He reaches out with both hands to run his fingers gently along my collarbone, my upper arms, grazing the sides of my breasts as he moves down over my ribs and finally settles his hands on my hips, his thumbs stroking the now prominent bones there. His expression is both reverent and sad as he traces this path along my torso. It's obvious the Games were far harder on my body than his.

"I think," he says quietly after a moment, raising his eyes to look into mine, "that when we get home, we should both using our winnings to get really, _really _fat."

I laugh, a real laugh, and he grins down at me, the lingering tension finally broken. By way of response I grab onto his shirt, crashing my lips into his to kiss him madly, and he pulls me against him eagerly, a new sort of tension building swiftly between us.

Maybe I don't have the slightest clue what to say right now about all that's happened. But we've always been better at expressing ourselves without saying a word anyway.

Gale's hands slide deliciously over the naked skin of my back as our mouths move together and I decide he is wearing far too much clothing. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt for a minute before I give up and just rip the damn thing open. The clatter of buttons hitting the wall only vaguely registers as I push the shirt off his shoulders and he helps me by letting go of me long enough to pull it the rest of the way down his arms. My hands stroke down the hard-muscled plane of his chest and abdomen to the waist of his pants. I undo them quickly as Gale toes out of the boots he's wearing, then shove the garment down his hips, leaving him as nude as I am.

Gale kicks the pants away and pulls me back to him with one arm around my waist, his other hand tangling in my hair to cup the back of my head, his mouth descending again on mine as he presses us together, skin-to-skin. It feels like coming home.

He backs me up the last few steps to the bed and we collapse together onto the soft mattress. Gale's hands slip up my back to my shoulders, arching me into him. His mouth leaves mine to kiss down my neck, over my right shoulder, down my arm, my leg, worshipping every inch of my body. He traces the same path back up my left leg and I let out an agonized moan when he skips over the place I want him most, continuing his journey back up my left arm. He stops to kiss me deeply again, then begins working his way down my torso, lips and hands caressing my breasts. By the time his mouth brushes against the smooth skin below my navel I'm writhing with need, moaning constantly, an endless stream of sighs and pleas for _more_, _please more_.

I practically sob with relief when he finally settles between my legs, opening me to him with his tongue before sealing his lips over my throbbing clit. His movements quicken then, lips and tongue working me expertly to bring me to the edge of ecstasy. He slides two fingers inside me, making my hips buck up into him as I shout his name. His other hand reaches up to squeeze my breast, rolling my hardened nipple between his fingers and stars explode behind my eyes as my first orgasm hits me. He doesn't give me anytime to recover, continuing his ministrations and my fingers fist into his hair, holding him to me as I come again in short order, screaming his name this time.

This time he does stop, and I whimper with loss as he slips his fingers from me. But Gale doesn't leave me wanting long, sliding quickly up my body to thrust inside me in one smooth motion as our mouths meet again in a bruising kiss. I wind my legs around his waist, my hands grasping the firm muscles of his back, feeling them tense beneath me as he begins to move, stroking in and out of me, slowly at first then faster, harder. My hips rise to meet his, and it feels so impossibly good, but I want more, _need_ more. The desperate urge that I had that day in the forest to claim him, to let him devour me whole is burning inside of me again, only there is nothing to stop us now, no reason to not give into it.

Gale rolls us then, pulling me on top of him, giving me the control he must sense I need. I tear my mouth from his to sit up, bracing myself with both hands on his chest, my short nails digging lightly into his flesh. I roll my hips into his once, twice, earning a strangled groan as grabs my hips and arches up into me. Our eyes never leave each others' as I begin riding him in earnest, Gale's as black as midnight as he watches me atop him.

I'm getting close again when Gale suddenly leans up, bracing himself with one hand behind him. The change in angle makes me cry out as every thrust brings him into contact with the most sensitive spot inside of me. He slips his other hand between us, making small circles around my clit and I come hard for the third time, my pelvis grinding mindlessly into his as my fingers dig sharply into his shoulders, creating new marks to replace the ones erased by the Capitol.

Through my blissful haze I notice that Gale seems to be gritting his teeth, struggling not to let go himself. He sits up fully now to kiss me again, and I can sense the same fierce desperation in his motions that was gripping me moments ago, is rising inside me again. We pull apart to stare at each other, our faces only inches apart, panting and wild-eyed.

I don't want to be in control anymore. In fact I've never wanted to lose control more in my life.

I slide off his lap and he lets out a pained groan that gets cut short when he realizes what I'm doing. I crawl past him to the head of the bed, his stormy and heavy-lidded eyes tracking my every movement. I settle on my knees facing the sturdy wooden headboard and reach out to grab onto it with both hands. Then I turn to look over at my shoulder invitingly at Gale, who is watching me with a predatory look, like the hunter that he is. Though I doubt any of his prey have ever been so willing to be caught as I am now.

Gale kneels behind me and strokes his hands gently along my sides, my back; his fingers tracing the curve of my spine as he presses soft kisses against my shoulder. He brushes my hair out of the way to run his lips up the side of my neck. My breath is already coming in needy gasps as I twist my head back to let my mouth meet his in a long, passionate kiss.

"_I love you, Katniss," _he growls fervently against my ear when we come up for air, making me gasp again in delight, "_so fucking much_."

Whatever response I would have made is lost as he thrusts back inside me. The feeling of Gale, sliding deep and hard and fast into me, over and over again, is overwhelming and I don't try to keep up with the pace he is setting, instead letting myself get swept away in the sensations. His hands move restlessly over my body, caressing my breasts, my stomach, my thighs; adoring me even as his hips slam roughly into mine. His movements get impossibly quicker as he gets closer and slides one hand down my sweat-slicked body to rest between my legs, stroking me with skilled fingers, the other settling across my torso to caress my left breast. His mouth slides along the skin of my neck and shoulder, grunts of pleasure and strangled '_love you's' _echoing in my ears, and that must be my voice that I hear, chanting his name hoarsely in an endless litany. He roars my name when he comes, hips bucking unrestrainedly into mine as he pours himself into me and I let go as well with a long keening wail as my whole body seems to explode into white-hot ecstasy.

We collapse together to the bed once more, a sweaty, spent mess of tangled limbs. I twist in Gale's arms to face him and press a sleepy kiss to his mouth. He somehow manages to pull the covers over us and tucks me securely against him. One of us whispers _'I_ _love you'_ - maybe we both do; it's hard to tell now where one of us ends and the other begins.

Then, content in the knowledge that we are alive and we are together and we are unbreakably each others', I drop into peaceful slumber.

* * *

I'm pulled unwillingly from that sleep only a few short hours later when Effie flings our door open just before noon and bustles into the room. I peek up at her from where my face is still half-buried in Gale's chest as she crosses to us and roll my eyes when I see her features once again twisted in displeasure. Honestly, I thought we were past this by now, especially since we almost _died_ a few days ago. And anyway Gale and I are married now - maybe not legally, but that's just a formality at this point - so it's not like us being in bed together even constitutes 'scandalous' behaviour anymore.

As she gets closer though I realize it's not disapproval that's colouring her expression but … guilt? For what? Waking us up maybe? But when has Effie ever felt guilty about that?

Then I remember the odd interaction that occurred between her and Haymitch in the wee hours of the morning when we returned to the floor and it suddenly feels extremely important that we find out just what that was all about.

"Effie," I start, my voice raspy from sleep. Well and all the shouting I did before falling asleep, my face turning beet-red as the memory floods my mind.

She doesn't let me finish though. "Time to get up dear. It's another big, big, big day," she chirps, cheery as ever, though the bright smile she gives me doesn't reach her eyes.

Effie tosses a robe for me onto the bed and I sigh. Gale's been glaring irritably at Effie this entire time, and when I move to try to untangle my limbs from his, he pulls me back down instead to plant a lingering kiss on my lips. Effie huffs in frustration but out of the corner of my eye I see her turn her back to us, giving us some small measure of privacy.

Gale pouts at me when I finally tear myself away from his mouth and tug the robe on over my shoulders. "Only one more morning," I remind him, leaning down to press my lips quickly against his. "Then we can do whatever we want, whenever we want."

A knowing smirk spreads across Gale's face as his eyes darken, his gaze raking hungrily down my body in a way that makes me feel short of breath and light-headed. I scramble quickly out of the bed, knowing that if I don't, it won't be long before Gale decides to try to scare Effie out of the room completely - and I decide to let him.

As Effie starts to hustle me out of the room, I can't resist taking one last look over my shoulder at Gale, who's lying propped up on his elbows in the centre of the bed, hair rumpled messily from sleep and my fingers running through it, completely naked except for the sheet draped strategically over his hips and one of his legs, still giving me _that _look. I'm two steps back towards him before I even realize I've moved and Effie squeaks in exasperation as she grabs my arm and steers me forcefully from the room. The last thing I hear before the door closes is Gale laughing, both pleased and frustrated.

She marches me all the way through the bedroom across the hall, depositing me in front of the shower, informing me that my prep team will be here shortly to get me ready for my interview, and disappearing back out the door. I finish in the bathroom quickly and emerge to find a tray with a bowl of hot grain and thick stew set on the low table by the bed. I realize I'm starving and eat the whole thing in less than five minutes, before heading to the door to go find someone to bring me more. It flies open before I can though, and my prep team rushes into the room, sweeping me back inside with them.

I tell them how much the crowd loved them last night and that sets them chattering excitedly for the next hour and a half as they work on me. Cinna arrives then to shoo them out and dress me in a white gauzy dress and pink shoes. No more fire for me now, apparently. I've had quite enough of it anyway, so I can't say I'm disappointed.

Cinna adjusts my makeup until I seem to radiate a soft, rosy glow - the look of a blushing bride, I realize. We make idle chitchat, Cinna telling me stories about the prep team's more ridiculous escapades at the Victor's Banquet last night (I wish, truly, that I had been there to see Haymitch's expression when Venia, absolutely loaded from about ten too many glasses of champagne, propositioned him) to help distract me from my growing nerves.

When I'm ready, Cinna leads me out of the bedroom to the sitting room down the hall, where the interview will take place. A space has been cleared in front of the window overlooking the city, and the red velvet loveseat from last night's ceremony moved in. All around it are vases overflowing with carefully arranged pink and red roses, their petals gleaming softly in the daylight streaming through the window. As beautiful as they are, I can't help but be quietly appalled by the sight of them after last night, especially since they probably came straight from Snow's famous personal rose garden. A handful of cameras are set up around the room, but at least there's no live audience.

On second thought, I think it might actually be better if there _were_ a live audience. Our ability to win over the crowd has been one of our biggest assets in all this. With no one here to play to, I can't help but worry that some of the … less desirable, at least in this situation, aspects of our personalities might start to peek through.

I find Haymitch standing off to the side and rush up to him. "Will our prep teams be watching as they film the interview?" I demand.

He looks at me, confused. "Yeah, we'll all be here, behind the cameras. Why?"

I relax a bit. It's not a much of an audience, but it'll do. They're certainly as prone to over-excitement as anyone else in the Capitol, and should give us a good enough read on how we're doing. I smile at Haymitch as though I've realized I'm being silly, and shake my head. "Just wanted the moral support I guess."

"Well you'll have it," he assures me, still looking at me a bit oddly. He gives my hand a small squeeze, then inclines his head to indicate something over my shoulder.

I turn to see Gale entering the sitting area behind Portia, looking handsome in a red shirt and white trousers. I skip over to him, conscious of all the eyes on us at this moment, and he sweeps me into his arms for a soft kiss.

Caesar comes up to greet us, giving me a warm hug and shaking Gale's hand firmly as he assures us that we're all going to have a wonderful time. Someone calls out that they're ready for us, and Caesar directs us to the loveseat. Gale sits down and I settle beside him, tucking my feet up under me and leaning my legs against his thighs. Gale drapes his right arm around my shoulders and I take his left hand in both of mine as I rest my head against his shoulder. It's not the most formal pose we could have adopted, but it's certainly the most natural. We've gotten this far by trusting our instincts; I'm not about to stop doing that now. Our teams arrange themselves behind the cameras, shooting us encouraging smiles.

Someone counts backwards and a dozen red lights flicker to life on top of the cameras, indicating that we are now being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar plays his role perfectly, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion calls for it. I let Gale field as many of the questions as possible. He's always been better at turning on the charm when necessary, and he and Caesar quickly develop an easy rapport.

Caesar starts by asking us about our history together, how we met and fell in love. We give a Capitol-friendly version of the truth, carefully omitting any mention of our illegal activities. The story of the incident that finally led to our romantic relationship - my undeniable jealousy over the girl that hit on Gale the night after last year's reaping - earns huge laughs, then touched _awws_ from Caesar and our prep teams in the peanut gallery. Even Haymitch is smiling, and I think that we're doing alright so far.

Talk turns then to this year's reaping, though we don't spend much time there, having already discussed it during the pre-Games' interview. Caesar uses it to segue into a lengthy discussion of the Games themselves - our rivalry with the Careers; our short partnership with Rue; all the many injuries we received. Everyone in the room is choked up as we talk about how we felt when we were separated by the fire and heard the cannon boom - Gale twice - uncertain whether the other was still alive. I spot Octavia and Venia and one of the women on Gale's team who's name I don't know shedding melodramatic tears. Yes, so far, so good.

Of course, the moment I've really been dreading eventually arrives, as the subject of the firestone arrow comes up.

Caesar turns to Gale first. "So Gale, at the end, just before Katniss fired that arrow - no pun intended," he grins cheekily and our teams titter with laughter, "you said something, about only trusting each other and your instincts. Can you tell me what that was about?"

It's a dangerous question. Answer it right, and it could save our lives. Answer it wrong, and we'll have given the Capitol all the rope they need to hang us with.

Gale looks down at me, his thumb brushing gently over the ring on my fourth finger. "Everything then seemed so hopeless," he says quietly. "The thought of losing her -" he cuts off, as if overcome with emotion, not entirely faking it. "And of course, I knew she felt the same about losing me. It just - it wasn't an option. We'd live together or we'd die together. And by then, I'd ruled out the possibility that we could both make it out of there. But there didn't seem to be anyway to ensure that we could die together. If there's one thing I've learned from being with Katniss, though, it's that there's always a way, so long as we're together. We just have to let go of everything else to find it."

My eyes are damp when he finishes speaking and dips his head to give me a sweet kiss. I spare a quick glance at Haymitch and he nods subtly. Good enough, I guess. At least good enough to get us out of this city alive.

Caesar looks at me then, and asks, "Katniss, the moment you pulled out that firestone, what was going through your mind?"

I'm extremely relieved that he didn't ask me how I came to be in possession of that firestone, since I don't fully understand it myself. I'm sure it wasn't an ordinary gift from generous sponsors, and I certainly can't reveal my true suspicions about its origins, but anything I could make up seems completely implausible.

I lift Gale's hand with both of mine to press a soft kiss to the makeshift ring resting there, then hold his hand against my heart. My eyes never leave Gale's as I answer, "Nothing, except that I couldn't bear the thought of losing him. That neither of us could ever dream of a life without the other."

A single tear slides down my cheek and I release Gale's hand to let him brush it away before cupping my face and pulling me to him for a lingering kiss. The room is full of the sounds of people sniffling as they cry. Even Caesar looks a bit teary when Gale and I finally break apart.

Caesar does us perhaps the second biggest favour he ever has when he doesn't end the interview then, but instead pulls himself together to smile brightly and say, "Now, we have a bit of a surprise for you. If I recall correctly - and I always do," he winks at the camera and everyone chuckles, "Gale promised to propose if you were both named Victors."

Caesar's sunny mask never slips, but I personally think he looks just the faintest bit queasy as he says that, since it was, after all, his insane suggestion that prompted that promise. He continues, "Of course, we all saw him jump the gun a bit on that one," and everyone in the room laughs and hoots appreciatively. "By now we're all familiar with District 12's toasting tradition," - I guess our mothers must have explained it one of their interviews - "but we thought you two might enjoy having a proper wedding as well."

We've already had a proper wedding as far as I'm concerned, but Gale and I grin at each other dutifully nevertheless. "Nothing would make us happier," I say joyfully to Caesar, hoping I'm not laying it on too thick.

"And we thought," Caesar goes on, "that no one knows how to throw a wedding better than the Capitol!" Our teams cheer excitedly in agreement. Gale and I do our best not to look sick at the thought, knowing what's coming now. "So President Snow himself has offered to host your wedding, with the help of your fabulous teams of stylists of course." Everyone erupts into even louder cheers, positively thrilled at the idea that they'll get to be involved in the biggest social event of the decade.

"That just sounds … so fabulous. And generous," I manage to choke out through tears that I hope look overwhelmed and not appalled. I force myself to remember that I'm glad Caesar has chosen to close the show with talk of our wedding, as vile an affair as it's sure to be now, instead of with the part where we burned the Arena to the ground and made a mockery of the Capitol by forcing them to name two Victors. I plaster a wide, grateful smile to my face as I add, "I don't even know what to say."

I look up at Gale who is grinning down manically at me and I can practically see the disgust bubbling under his happy veneer. I pull him down to kiss me, hiding our faces from the cameras.

Caesar signs off then, to my immense relief. Everyone swarms us, laughing and crying and offering congratulations. I accept them as warmly as I can, considering that a wedding hosted by President Snow sounds like the sort of nightmare only a tracker jacker's sting could induce.

We may have been allowed to escape the belly of this beast, but it clearly isn't done playing with us yet.

* * *

_A/N: One more to go! I'll be back tomorrow with the last chapter and an end note with some info about the sequel._


	32. This is Where the World Drops Off

**A/N: **Here we are, the last chapter! I'm … actually really sad about that. Thanks again to everyone for reading and reviewing :) When you've finished this one, **please** **click forward to read the end note** - it will answer a lot of questions I suspect (or know) people have about the sequel. After you review of course, if you're so inclined ;)

**Disclaimer: **'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins. Chapter title and lyrics are from Matthew Good's "Weapon."

* * *

**Chapter 31 - This is Where the World Drops Off**

_~Here by my side it's heaven_

_Here by my side you are destruction_

_Here by my side, a new colour to paint the world~_

With the interview over, it's finally time to leave this dreadful place. We say our goodbyes to our prep teams in the suite. Venia, Flavius and Octavia all sob dramatically at my departure, even as they talk gleefully about all the things they'll get to plan for me for our wedding. Haymitch finally manages to tear me away from them and we step into the elevator, along with Cinna, Portia and Effie. Cinna and Portia will see us off at the train station, while Effie will accompany the rest of us back to District 12. We're shuffled into a car with black-tinted windows, which drives us right up to the train.

A huge crowd has gathered to witness our departure, and I can barely hear Cinna over the racket they're making as we say goodbye. I'm sad to be leaving him, but I'll see him again in a few months for the Victory Tour, when the Capitol will parade us around all the districts as a reminder that the Hunger Games never really go away. It's generally an uncomfortable affair for everyone involved, although I suspect that will be for a very different reason this year.

Actually, I realize, I might be seeing him much sooner than that. For our wedding preparations. At least that's one good thing about all that, I suppose.

After a long hug, Cinna releases me only to take one of my hands in his, pressing a small object into it - Madge's mockingjay pin. He must have retrieved it from my Arena outfit and I smile gratefully at him, glad that it wasn't lost to the Capitol.

"See you soon, girl on fire," Cinna promises as he takes a step back, winking conspiratorially at me.

Portia comes up to hug me quickly while Cinna shakes Gale's hand, then those of us who are leaving are directed up the stairs of the train. We spend a few more minutes smiling and waving to the crowd, gestures that are less forced this time than they were when we departed District 12 more than three weeks ago, the relief of finally getting out of the Capitol boosting our spirits tremendously.

The train begins moving almost as soon as we're inside, and we head straight for the dining car. I'm positively famished, the small lunch I was given before the interview not nearly enough food to tide me over between the extraordinarily late night we had and our … vigorous activities this morning. Thankfully, they're no longer regulating my portions - no audience to throw up in front of now except Haymitch and Effie, and Haymitch has already broken that ground for me - and I eat until I'm so full, I think they'll have to roll me out of the dining car.

When we can't possibly eat anymore, we head into the next car to watch a replay of this afternoon's interview. We sit in comfortable silence - well, everyone else sits. I lie with my head on Gale's lap, his fingers running idly through my hair, the large meal (and, admittedly, a couple glasses of wine) making sitting up far too much of a challenge.

I don't realize that I fell asleep until I hear the anthem playing, the broadcast apparently over, and feel Gale sliding his arms underneath me, lifting me off the couch with no effort.

A few weeks ago I'd have been horribly embarrassed and would have protested that I can walk on my own, not wanting to look weak in front of Haymitch and Effie. Now though, I simply curl into his arms, making some incoherent noise of contentment as I bury my face in Gale's neck; no desire to leave the peaceful, sleepy haze enveloping me. Haymitch chuckles in a way that could almost be described as affectionate, and Gale bids them both goodnight before carrying me off to our old room here.

Gale pulls back the covers with one hand and sets me down gently on the luxurious pillows at the head of the bed. I hear the snick of the door closing and then Gale is slipping the pink shoes off my feet. I let him slide the white interview dress off of me as well before I curl on my side, sinking into the soft mattress. A moment passes as he undresses, then he's sliding in behind me, spooning me against him and pulling the covers over us. I fall back asleep almost immediately, warm and safe in his arms.

* * *

I wake early the following morning, the sky only just beginning to lighten in the pre-dawn hour. For the first time since this ordeal began, I actually feel properly rested. And no wonder - it must have only been late evening the previous night when I fell asleep.

At some point in the night we shifted positions, Gale now lying on his back with me tucked against his side, my head on his chest. He's still fast asleep, and I don't want to disturb him, though I need the bathroom. I slip out carefully from under his arm and he grunts unhappily, but settles again quickly. I steal into the bathroom and decide to shower while I'm here. My face is still covered in the make-up from yesterday, significantly smeared now. But even if it wasn't, I'd want it gone. When I arrive in District 12, when I see Prim and my mother again, I want it to be as myself, not the Capitol version of me.

I press the now-familiar buttons and step under the warm spray, enjoying the relaxing flow of the water over my skin. I hope our house in the Victor's Village will have a shower.

_Our house_. I quite like the sound of that.

They'll probably give us two of course, one for each of us. It's not like there aren't plenty of houses to spare in the block designated for District 12's Hunger Games Victors, there being only one other one alive and a dozen houses standing in that part of town. Our families can all move into one of them, and Gale and I will take the other. Not that I wouldn't want them living with us of course, filling our home with people and love and laughter. But I'm certain that as newly-weds with an abundance of spare time on our hands now that we won't have to go to school or work - another perk of being a Victor - we'll want some space to ourselves. At least as much as is possible with the Capitol's eyes still on us.

Soft lips press against my shoulder and strong hands slide over my stomach from behind. I've barely turned around when Gale is already dropping his mouth to mine in a deep kiss that warms my core and turns my legs to jelly.

"I woke up and you weren't there," he murmurs, pressing a line of hot open-mouthed kisses down my neck.

My hands glide up over his shoulders to tangle in his water-slicked ebony hair. "I didn't want to wake you," I breathe as he steps forward, pinning me between the wall of the shower and his body.

"Always wake me," he says fervently, his hands slipping down to grasp the back of my thighs, lifting me easily.

"Okay," I manage to gasp as he slides into me, his lips descending again on mine.

It's an easy promise to make. If this is the punishment for not waking him, I can only imagine how sweet the reward for doing so would be.

* * *

The sun has risen by the time we emerge from the shower and pull on the simplest clothes we can find in the dresser. They've moved some of the clothes from the room across the hall - the one that was officially Gale's - in here as well, so he doesn't have to leave to find any.

As I slip my feet into a pair of flat, black shoes, I notice Gale eyeing the top drawer of the dresser thoughtfully - the one that contains the most ridiculous articles of clothing. He pulls it open and plucks out the same bright pink lace 'dress' he did on the first night and folds it up quickly, shoving it in his pocket. The fact that it can fit _in_ his pocket is extremely telling.

He catches me watching him, unamused, and winks at me. "Never say never, Catnip."

I roll my eyes. "You're right," I say sweetly, "I'll put that thing on when you do." When he pouts at me, I add teasingly, "Never say never."

He quirks his mouth up in a brief, defeated grin, but doesn't take the thing out of his pocket. I'm not sure which one of us actually won this round.

Gale slides his lips quickly against mine, then we leave the room in search of some food and maybe someone to tell us how far from home we are. We find Effie and Haymitch sitting in the bar, serious expressions on both their faces. Breakfast hasn't been set out yet, to my disappointment. The train stops a moment later to refuel before the last leg of the journey - still a few hours left, per Effie - and Haymitch suggests taking a walk. His tone makes me distinctly uneasy, though at least we might finally find out what that odd exchange from the other morning was all about.

All four of us walk along the track, Haymitch and Effie out front, Gale and I trailing behind them hand-in-hand. We continue on, past the end of the train, until it's only a speck in the distance. The only things to be seen in any direction are train tracks and low scrubby bushes, and I'm reasonably certain there are no cameras watching or microphones listening to us here.

Which is good, because I can't stop myself from blurting out, "What happened, in the districts, while we were in the Games?"

Haymitch shakes his head, earning a frustrated glare from both Gale and I. "Not now. We don't time have to get into it. I'll catch you up when we're back home and the cameras are gone." I guess Effie is an official part of the conspiracy now, since Haymitch doesn't seem to be perturbed by her presence as he says this.

"You can't seriously be trying to shut us out of this," Gale says angrily. "Nothing would even be happening if it weren't for us."

Haymitch huffs in irritation. "I'm not trying to shut you out of anything. Things are in motion, that's all you need to know for now. We have more pressing things to discuss."

That shuts both of us up. Haymitch and Effie exchange another odd glance, then he nods in her direction. Apparently he thinks this news will be better coming from her. That can't possibly be good.

"There's something you need to know," she begins, "about what happened to you in the Arena."

"I'd say there are a lot of things we need to know about what happened in there," Gale grumbles, earning a sharp glare from Haymitch.

"True enough," Effie sighs, "but the rest can wait. Katniss, we should have told you this when you first woke up in the hospital, but, well, we weren't sure how you would take it and with the coronation and the interviews we thought it best to wait until after, so it wouldn't affect how you handled those or how the public perceived you if word got out about it."

"If word about what got out?" I ask uneasily. Gale is tense beside me, gripping my hand tightly.

"Your injuries, when they pulled you out of the Arena, were worse than they seemed," Effie says, choosing her words carefully. "They think that when Cato tackled you, during the last fight, the way he landed on you and the impact of your fall, it broke four of your ribs and caused some internal bleeding. Extensive internal bleeding, actually."

I remember, the sharp flare of pain in my abdomen, and wondering why I'd been kept unconscious for so long when I first woke up. That would explain a lot, but there's clearly more to this - this news alone wouldn't be any particular cause for concern since I feel fine now.

"The doctors were able to stop it, fix you up, but…" she trails off, and Haymitch shifts uncomfortably.

"But what?" Gale snaps.

"But she was pregnant when it happened," Haymitch finally says in a rush when Effie hesitates too long for his liking. "I'm sorry sweetheart," he adds more gently, "but you lost the baby."

I'm still stuck on the word '_pregnant,_' my mouth hanging open dumbly, completely numb with shock.

"How is that even possible?" Gale breathes, looking as stunned as I feel.

"The injuries -" Effie starts, but Gale cuts her off.

"No, I mean, how is it possible that you were pregnant?" he asks, turning to look at me. Some part of me distantly recognizes that once again we've done the impossible - found a situation that even _Haymitch_ considers serious enough not to make a snide remark about, because he lets that one slide without comment. "The herbs…"

About six months after we became involved romantically, I came home late one night to find my mother sitting at our kitchen table, a small package in her hands, her expression uncomfortable but determined. I'd been coming home later and later, lingering longer in the woods with Gale, finding that it was getting harder to leave him at the end of the night. I thought I'd been careful enough sneaking back in that the gradual change had gone unnoticed by my mother, but it seemed I was wrong.

She waved me into the seat across from her, and I took it nervously, sure I was about to get reamed out for my carelessness. What I got instead was an uncomfortably frank lecture on physical intimacy. At the end of it, my mother had handed me the bundle, saying that I should take the herb mixture inside of it exactly once a week and it would keep me from getting in trouble, if that became a possibility. She promised me that I could always come talk to her about this if I needed to, and to never, ever be afraid to ask her for more of the concoction when I was running out. _Before_ I ran out; she was quite insistent on that.

I'd been stunned and embarrassed, and so I'd simply nodded my agreement and took the package; flushing beet-red as I ran off to stash it in my drawer in our bedroom dresser. I swore to myself that I wouldn't need it, that I had no intention of ever letting things go that far, no matter how much I loved Gale. Nothing would be worth the risk of bringing a child into this awful world.

Two weeks later I'd let him slide his fingers beneath my underwear for the first time and I've been taking the mixture religiously ever since.

Except, after the reaping, everything had been so insane and intense and for most of that time I thought I was going to die soon anyway and I'd forgotten all about it.

"The last time I took it was five days before the reaping," I say quietly, looking up at Gale. By the time training started, I'd have been completely unprotected.

Which means I'm _still _completely unprotected I realize in horror. "Yesterday! And this morning!" I shout dismayed. "How could we have been so stupid?" I wail as Gale wraps his arms soothingly around me, still a bit dazed himself.

Haymitch and Effie look even more uncomfortable than before, sharing an inscrutable look.

"What?" I demand. "What is it?"

Haymitch sighs. "Well I guess we have good news and bad news for you. The good news is, you don't have to worry." I frown in confusion, but he continues quickly, his voice grave, "The bad news is, the damage from the internal injuries and the miscarriage - it was too much for even the Capitol doctors to fix."

Gale stiffens against me. "What are you saying?" I ask, my voice hollow.

"He's saying," Effie says gently, coming up to take one of my hands, "that they don't think you'll be able to conceive again. I'm so sorry dear."

The day is hot, but I feel chilled to the bone. I can't even come up with a response to that, so instead I just wearily ask the next thing that comes to mind. "So yesterday morning, when we got to the floor, this is what you didn't want to tell us then?"

Effie isn't entirely able to cover the guilty look that flits across her face; nor can Haymitch hide the scowl that flickers across his features over the fact that I've remembered about that. There's something else they're keeping from us.

"Yes," Haymitch says gruffly. "This was it."

"You're lying," I hiss, taking a step away from Gale to point accusingly at him. "There's something else, I know there is."

"Not now, Katniss," he says and I'm so shocked by his use of my real name instead of 'sweetheart' that I actually let it drop.

"When?" Gale barks, unwilling to do the same. "After everything we've been through, everything we've lost, you owe us the truth."

"When you're ready," Haymitch says ominously. "And believe me, right now? You're not even close."

He starts walking back to the train then, tugging on Effie's elbow to get her to follow after him. She casts one last apologetic look at us, then totters off, unsteady in her tall heels on this uneven ground.

Gale looks like he's about to chase after them, to beat Haymitch into a pulp most likely, until he spills all his secrets, but one glance at my shell-shocked face stops him.

"Catnip…" he whispers, cupping my face in his palms. His eyes are full of grief and worry.

I don't know how to feel about any of this. I was pregnant. Now I'm not. I probably won't ever be again. I'm relieved, I guess. I've never wanted to have children.

So why do I also feel so empty?

I laugh then, a harsh sound utterly devoid of mirth as something occurs to me. "I guess the Hunger Games got their 23 deaths this year after all," I spit.

Gale seems to collapse in on himself momentarily before filling back out again, strong and menacing. "They'll never get another one," he vows fiercely, fire burning in his eyes.

If I wasn't determined to see the rebellion through before, I certainly am now. I'm not sure how I feel about what the Capitol took from me - but there is no question that they took something that never, ever should have been theirs. I'll see Snow burn for this before it's over, I swear it.

"No, they won't," I agree, my voice dripping with deadly resolve.

A warning whistle rings out from the train and I lean up to kiss Gale hard on the mouth before we scurry back. There will be time to process this, and everything else that's happened, when we are home. Time to sort through the mess of emotions roiling through me. Time to figure out how to make the Capitol pay for all they've stolen - from us; from our fellow tributes; from all the other tributes that have ever been; from everyone that's ever suffered under their rule.

We spend the rest of the ride in grim silence in the dining car, forcing down a heavy breakfast. The train has just crossed into District 12 when I remember Madge's mockingjay pin on the dresser in our room and rush back to retrieve it, relieved to find it still sitting there. I fasten it to my shirt, the gold sparkling against the black material. A sign of defiance. That I did not come back from the Capitol their puppet.

I return in time to stand beside Gale at the window as our decrepit little station rises up around us. Gale takes my hand in his and gives me a determined nod. I squeeze his hand firmly in return.

"Together," he says solemnly.

"Always," I answer, my voice unwavering.

The platform is thick with cameras, the eyes of the nation on us once again.

I raise my hand to wave at them, steely resolve hidden under a mask of cheer.

The Hunger Games may be over. But the real game is just beginning.

It's time for this spark to become an inferno.

* * *

_You breathe in_

_And you breathe out_

_For it ain't so weird_

_How it makes you a weapon_


	33. End Notes

**End Notes**

**EDITED TO ADD: I started posting the sequel "Feeding the Flame" here a couple weeks ago. It was taken down last Wednesday (June 20th) by the FF admins. I will be continuing to post it on my livejournal account - randomchick 29 dot livejournal dot com**

**I hope you'll come follow it over there!  
**

**ETA (August 1st) - Just a quick update to let everyone know the sequel is still alive and well over on LJ. We're up to Chapter 12 right now with lots more to come!  
**

**ETA (October 14th, 2012) - Just wanted to say that FtF is still in progress over on livejournal. Please come check it out!  
**

First of all, a HUGE thank you to everyone who ever took the time to review this story. I want to give a special shout-out to all of my regulars, in no particular order: Ellenka, Pinklove 21, loonygirl22, lambtastic, GottaLoveThis, bloodrose's dance, clow-san, elle81, , FortuneFade2012, fireangel08, claireleanne, Ambrosia, DancingDP, dalistar123, sunshine2006578, xXLil'BitOfEveryThangXx, murdrax, bookworm0902, TobiasWillJaceFinnickFourNin e, Lorelei Eve, sinking815, Signora Lilium, shloh, Msvampirewannabe, AliceW, kitty ramone, Fernanda, XxXxDarkVampirexXxX, craztef, roarollymay, gopher101, and probably a couple other people. I apologize sincerely if I missed anyone. 600+ emails is a lot to scroll through lol. Nothing's made my day more over these last couple of months than getting all your feedback, and I appreciate so much everyone that ever took the time to send me a note about the story.

I know this story ended with a lot of questions unanswered. I knew pretty early on that I was going to write a sequel, and when I got to the last chapters, I had to decide between having a long expositiony epilogue to address them, or weave them in to the follow-up. I decided to leave them for the sequel, since it just seemed to make more sense to spread them out, given the constraints imposed by the Capitol's surveillance. Almost all of them will be answered in the first couple of chapters. There is one thing that won't be, because it'll eventually form a plot point later in the story when it is revealed. But everything will be addressed eventually.

Which brings me to the sequel. I've got the basic outline down and have started writing it, and will begin posting next weekend probably. I want to get the first few chapters really nailed down before I start publishing, but I won't keep you guys waiting too long. Updates might be a bit slower on that one than this one, since it's a much more complex AU, since a) 'Catching Fire' is a more complex book, b) all the more so given where we're starting from with this story, and c) well, let's just say I'm not content to rest on my laurels. I will do my best though to keep chapters coming regularly. I mentioned this way back at the beginning, but this story was my first real attempt at writing - not just fanfiction, but any sort of creative writing period. It was something of an experiment, to see if I even could do it. Needless to say, I've been absolutely blown away by the response, and I want to make sure that the sequel lives up to everyone's expectations. Since I'll be straying further from canon in that one than I had to in this, I want to take my time with it and do it right.

Also RL has just been a bit crazier these last couple of weeks and it looks like it's gonna stay that way for a while, so I just haven't been able to spend as much time as I'd like to writing. Hopefully at some point I'll be able to pick up the pace again.

To answer a question a few people have asked in their reviews since I announced the sequel - yes, Peeta will be in it. Don't worry, it will not turn into a love-triangle story. I just think that Katniss and Gale could use some friends who aren't 40-something semi-functional alcoholics (much as I love Haymitch).

Like I mentioned a few chapters ago, I've set up a livejournal account - **randomchick29 dot livejournal dot com**. It's all caught up with FF now for this story, and I'll be cross-posting the sequel simultaneously there when I start, so you can follow it there as well. Please friend me if you have an account, since I'm brand new over there :)

Phew, okay. So yes, thanks again to everyone for reading! Hopefully I'll be seeing you all soon for the sequel - "Feeding the Flame".


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